


Down Came a Blackbird

by Alice in Stonyland (Raine_Wynd)



Series: Choices of the Raven [3]
Category: Highlander (Movies), Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Family, Gen, Immortal training, Siblings, Sword Fighting, Twins, first Quickening, newbie immortals, unexpected death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-03-02
Updated: 2009-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 10:11:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Alice%20in%20Stonyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate isn't always kind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uses elements from Amanda's Gift, but it stands alone.
> 
> Thank you to my betas and information sources:
> 
> * James M., who let me bounce this idea off him for four months during lunch  
> * Rhiannon Shaw, who got this plot bunny hopping my way and helped keep it going, and who first gave me a Matthew Muse  
> * Misha, whose numerous suggestions and superfast betaing helped me stay motivated to finish it  
> * the Eyrie for the Amtrak information, inspiration, and encouragement  
> * to idyll, for the NYC phone company information  
> * Parda and Celedon, for helping me with the layout of Connor's loft  
> * Tansy, whose medical insight as well as NYC info was invaluable.  
> * and to all my friends, for being there when I needed you.

_December 2000_

"I'm going down to grab a newspaper," Nick called to Connor as the other man sat in the sunken living room of the apartment above the antique store. "You want anything from the deli?" As he spoke, he leaned over the railing of the walkway that separated the upper bedroom level from the lower living area. From here, he had a clear view of the half-round sofa on which the older immortal sat, as well as the eclectic mix of modern art and antiques that decorated the living room. Without looking, Nick knew that a home entertainment system occupied one wall of the living room, along with a good-sized aquarium filled with exotic tropical fish. He could see that Connor had pulled the walnut coffee table closer to the sofa to create a makeshift desk. The sight amused Nick; he knew that his teacher had a perfectly good desk in the guest room but preferred the light — and the view of the river — generated by the massive windows.

"No." The blunt refusal of Nick's offer came quickly. Connor never looked up from the laptop he was using as his student grabbed a black leather coat from the wrought iron coat rack at the top of the stairs leading into the living room. Connor knew that the younger man usually went to get a paper on Saturday afternoons, primarily to obtain the crossword puzzle and the movie listings.

Nick hit the button for the elevator, having completely ignored the two swords in the umbrella stand at the foot of the stairs. The highly polished metal doors of the elevator reflected a ruggedly handsome man wearing blue jeans, a thick cable-knit sweater, and black sneakers. As he waited for the elevator, he reached behind his back to adjust the gun holster underneath his sweater; it had shifted when he'd stood.

"Forget something?" Connor asked pointedly without looking, aware of the younger man's tendency to rely more on his gun than his sword. Before his death, Nick had been a police officer and had worked for a security firm on various covert projects. The habit of relying on a gun over a sword was something the older immortal was trying to break.

Chuckling, Nick doubled back to jog down the stairs and then reached for the wolf's head broadsword in the stand. "No," he answered as he tucked the sword in his coat and put on the coat. "Just seeing if Rachel was right about those eyes in the back of your head."

Connor shook his head, irked and amused at the same time. Hadn't the man learned yet that you didn't _look_ to see if the sword had been picked up; metal lifting off metal made a distinctive noise, if you listened for it.

Less than ten minutes later, Connor heard the phone ring. He answered it, noting that it was the internal line connecting the antique store to his living quarters. "Yes?"

"Did you order a corpse for Christmas?" Nick asked grimly. "Because we got one on the back doorstep."

"Gift wrapped and addressed to me?" Even as Connor probed for information, a new immortal presence in the area flashed across Connor's senses. It was faint, not very strong, but it was close, and it flickered as if the immortal was trying to stay just out of the average sensing range. Warily, the Highlander rose to his feet.

"You expecting one?" Nick demanded suspiciously. "You said you'd tell me if you were expecting trouble."

"Aye, I did." Connor kept his tone calm only because he knew Nick's mistrust of immortals ran deep. "And I'm as surprised as you are."

Nick took a deep breath. Connor could almost see the way his student needed to remind himself that Connor had yet to lie to him about anything, especially something of this magnitude. Even after six months of living and training with Connor, Nick sometimes reacted as though Connor would leave him as much in the dark as Amanda had. Given what Connor knew about Nick's experiences, he couldn't say that he blamed Nick for believing that another immortal would be more apt to lie or conceal the truth from him in any given circumstance. While that belief was in some ways a blessing — Connor didn't have to teach any lessons about trusting others blindly — it made some things harder, such as building the kind of trust necessary between a teacher and his student.

"At least," Nick continued after a pause, "there isn't a note with the body. Guy's been mugged and stabbed; his wallet's gone, but he's wearing a high school ring with the name of Craig engraved in it. The snow's covering up his tracks, but from what I can tell, I'd say he stumbled his way here and died trying to get help. Oh, and Connor?" Nick's voice went hard. "If he wasn't one before, Craig's one of us now."

Connor didn't waste any more time talking, but quickly made his way downstairs.

* * *

"You're crazy," Craig Halverson stated angrily as he stood nearly toe-to-toe in front of an impassive Connor. The pair stood in the living room in front of the sofa, an arm's length away from where Nick lounged, his face betraying only slightly more of his feelings than Connor's did, and that wasn't saying much.

Connor stared at the newcomer. Craig was three inches shorter than Connor's five feet eleven inches; though he had a broader build than either Connor or Nick. Dark brown hair was streaked with blond at the top, closely cropped along the sides, and styled with hair gel. A small silver hoop earring pierced Craig's left ear. He had an oval face with a square jaw, an unremarkable nose, and deep-set brown eyes. The gold-and-teal color-blocked denim long-sleeved shirt he wore contrasted perfectly with his dark blue jeans and hiker-style boots. He looked every inch the fashionable twenty-five year old customer assistance manager that he was — except for the blood staining his shirt.

"Are we?" Connor challenged softly.

"Connor, he's only been immortal an hour. Give him a break; this is a lot of information to swallow." Nick paused. "God knows I didn't believe it when I found out about immortals, and I had time to get used to being around them before I died." He turned to Craig. "I wouldn't blame you if you walked out that door right now and never looked back, but you're not going to have the same life you thought you did. It's too late for that."

Craig looked at Nick, then at Connor. For a moment, he appeared as though he wanted to argue the point further. Then he sank into the supple leather of the half-circle sofa and closed his eyes. "I was just going to get a Christmas present for my sister. She loves stuff from this one little shop up the street." He shook his head sadly. "Never had any trouble before, you know? Anyway, I work out, figured I could handle anything. Never figured I'd get mugged and stabbed in broad daylight and no one would come help me, especially in the middle of Manhattan. This is supposed to be one of the safer places in the city."

"Your sister. Is she expecting you sometime today?" Nick asked. He dismissed Craig's claim on working out. For a man Nick guessed to be five foot eight inches tall with a large frame, Craig had to weigh a good thirty pounds under what he should. Nick suspected the working out was more of a once-a-week-at-a-gym kind of thing, nothing that would help the guy with self-defense. Cynically, the former police officer thought it was entirely too typical that Craig had been mugged.

Craig shook his head. "No, but she'll probably be worrying about me anyway. We've always been able to tell when something's happened to one of us." Seeing the question on the other men's faces, Craig explained, "Risa is my twin sister."

Nick glanced at Connor, not fully understanding why the older man stiffened at the announcement that Craig had a twin. Given what Nick knew about immortality, though, he didn't think having a twin sister was something to celebrate. What did Connor know about twin siblings that he hadn't yet told Nick? "If I were you, Craig," Nick said slowly, his eyes still on his teacher, "I'd think very carefully about what I'd tell Risa."

"I've never hidden anything from her," Craig replied, confused. "You make it sound like I shouldn't tell her about — about immortals. About what happened to me this morning." He looked at Nick, sensing that he'd get a better explanation out of him than Connor would give him.

"Do you think she'll believe you? You're having trouble believing it yourself." Connor's voice held cynical amusement.

Craig started to reply, then stopped, caught by the logic in that statement. "So what do I do now?"

Connor shrugged. "Whatever you like."

"You're just going to let him walk out the door?" Nick queried, surprised. "Tell him the rules and that he's in the Game and that's it?"

"He's in the city," Connor answered simply.

"There's more?" Craig asked suspiciously. He had a feeling that anything they told him was going to be bad. Any enthusiasm he'd felt about surviving the mugging had long since faded in the light of the news they'd given him. "It's not just 'oh, you'll live forever but there can only be one and no fighting on holy ground?' It's already something out of a really, really crappy movie. What more is there?"

"Plenty," Nick answered. "I didn't think I needed a sword. Almost lost my head before I realized how smart it would be to have one, and someone to teach me how to use it." Then a thought occurred to him. "There aren't any other immortals in New York City besides us, are there, Connor?"

Connor laughed shortly. "Not unless they come headhunting." No more words were necessary; Nick knew that his teacher had the ability to sense immortals at a greater distance than most.

"Why is that important? I mean, no other immortals, that's gotta be good, right?" Craig glanced at the two men. "And why aren't there?"

His questions were ignored. "What about Mac?" Nick persisted. "You said you got him to take the last one. I forgot you usually don't take on students."

A shadow of pain crossed the older immortal's face, and then he took a deep breath. "No, I don't." Turning to Craig, he said, "Don't go just yet." Then he walked out of the room.

"Is he always this way?" Craig wondered. "He acts like he knows everything."

Nick laughed. "No, sometimes he's worse. Trust me, he doesn't know everything, but he's been alive long enough to be right more often than not." Under his breath, Nick added, "Much as I hate it when he is." He took a seat beside Craig and clarified, "Connor was born in Scotland in 1518."

Craig absorbed this silently. Nick could almost see the calculation going through the younger man's head. "Is that old for an immortal?"

The ex-cop shrugged. "Not necessarily. You could live a lot longer. Supposedly, there's a five thousand-year-old immortal still alive, but I don't know if that's true, given the person I heard it from is someone who has a difficult time trying to tell the truth." Bitterness crept into his tone, and he swallowed it. "She's over a thousand years old, though."

"She? A thousand? What does she look like?"

Nick closed his eyes briefly as the memories of Amanda washed through him.

After an awkward pause, Craig said sincerely, "Sorry, man. She's dead, isn't she?"

Nick laughed shortly and opened his eyes. "No. No, she's dancing right on through the locked doorways of life and taking whatever the hell she likes." He exhaled heavily. "Not that I haven't wanted her dead more than once."

"Why's that?"

"I wanted to love her," Nick acknowledged roughly. "And she shot me." He hardened his tone. "Amanda's a thief. Has been all her life, just like Connor's always been the Highlander."

"How'd you meet?"

"I was a cop. She was just another day on the job, or so I thought." Nick's mouth twisted in remembrance. "Next thing I knew, I had a dead partner, a thief who wasn't dead when she should've been, a case of corruption, another dead cop, and a captain who wanted me to sweep everything under the rug in return for a promotion. I said no, quit the force, and started working for an old friend of mine in his security firm. After that, it seemed like no matter where I went or what I did, Amanda was involved somehow. The last case I took involved an immortal who knew how to mix poisons. He didn't take too kindly to my interfering, and gassed me. I nearly died of it; probably would have if Amanda hadn't shot me."

"Like dead forever?" Craig asked.

Even though he'd expected the question, Nick still hated knowing the answer, courtesy of Connor. "No. I still would've been immortal." He chuckled cynically. "Amanda forgot that little detail."

"You said you knew about immortals before you died. She told you?"

"Yes. She wanted to protect me." Nick stood and paced restlessly. "I don't know if it helped. When I didn't know, I didn't even consider the possibility that people could live forever. When I knew about immortals, it was the first thing I thought of when I encountered anyone suspicious. Working in security like I was, it happened a lot." Nick wasn't usually this forthcoming about his past with someone he'd only met that morning, much less someone who was immortal. However, he didn't believe that immortality was a field of pink posies, and felt that the only way to illustrate it clearly was to tell Craig what his experience had been. Given that Connor had walked out of the room, Nick didn't think the older immortal was going to contribute anything to the conversation.

"How long did you know about immortals before you..." Craig couldn't quite say the word. He took a deep breath and forced himself to say it. After all, he'd gone through the same thing, right? "Died."

"Almost a year." Nick sat down again, this time on the end of the sofa almost parallel to Craig. "There were days I cursed Amanda for being immortal, and not just because she was long lived. There were days when I thought I was lucky that I didn't have every old friend and lover I ever had come crawling out of the woodwork, and then having to take their heads when who they were now was something I couldn't let live. Then there were days when I wondered what it would have been like to have lived as long as she has, to go from the days of the Black Plague to now." Nick was quiet a moment, clearly remembering the past. "My first reaction when I revived from getting shot was that she hadn't given me a gift at all, but a curse. I wanted to love her forever."

"Let me get this straight," Craig said slowly. "You were a cop. This chick, Amanda — I assume she's some kind of hot babe, or you wouldn't have stopped to think about her beyond the job, right?"

"She didn't look like any thief I'd ever met, no."

"Okay, so you fell for her, and she had a couple of big secrets. Except those weren't the Jerry Springer kind, they were worse. She was going to live forever, and you were cool with that."

Nick half-shrugged. "It wasn't as though I had much choice. Most days, she seemed to take it for granted. like needing a pair of glasses, or being a kid and living in a war zone." He gestured as he tried to find the words. "But it was _her_ life. It wasn't really mine. I mean, living forever seemed like this big dream at first, but I saw how much it made her a target — I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in some fucked-up immortal shooting gallery. I'd had enough of it being a cop."

Craig was quiet while he thought about Nick's words. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"Would you stick around if someone you were falling in love with shot you?" Nick returned dryly.

"No, of course not," Craig said automatically, and then the words registered. "Oh," he said sheepishly. "So if you don't want to be immortal, why don't you just stop being one?"

Gently, Nick pointed out, "There's only one way to stop being immortal, Craig, and that's when your head is cut off." He exhaled heavily, resigned to his fate. "I've never been a quitter, and I've never been interested in committing suicide."

"Oh." Craig blinked as the logic of that settled in his mind. He wasn't sure how he felt about this whole immortality thing yet, but from what he'd heard so far, it wasn't sounding like anything he could decline. Maybe later, Craig thought, he could ask where the bright side in being immortal was (other than the obvious) — and maybe he could ask someone who wasn't nursing a broken heart over it.

Instinctively, Craig sensed that what Nick hadn't said was both painful and private. Though he wanted to respect that, there were pieces to Nick's story that didn't make any sense to Craig. Feeling unsure of what he could ask without being too nosy, he decided to risk one question. "How'd you meet Connor?"

"Amanda sent him to me. Told him to deliver a sword to me."

"She got him to agree to something like that? He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd let anyone make him do something he doesn't want. I mean, he acts like the less he has to say or do, the better."

Nick chuckled. "You haven't met Amanda. Her ability to charm people is one of the main reasons why she's still alive." He sighed. "To make a long story short, Connor's my teacher. I guess the way it's supposed to work is that whoever finds you after your first death and tells you about immortality is supposed to teach you, but that's the ideal world version."

"So you're just going to do what with me?" Craig asked as Nick stiffened.

"Give you a choice," Connor said, reappearing in a way that startled Craig.

"Whoa, man, that's not cool, sneaking up on people like that."

Nick glanced at Connor, worried at Craig's remark. "I felt you leave and come back in, Connor. Didn't you, Craig?"

"Oh, you mean that head rush? That's the Bat Signal? That's the way I can tell another immortal's coming?"

Both of the older immortals breathed sighs of relief at that question; neither wanted to contemplate an immortal who couldn't sense another immortal coming. "Yes," Nick answered as Connor nodded.

"Oh. I thought it was just the weather changing or something like that. When I was younger, I used to get these killer migraines when the weather changed and that's what I thought it was." Craig paused, feeling the weight of their gazes upon him. "You said I had choices. What kind of choices? I mean, I kinda get the impression that I can do nothing, go home, and hope I never have to fight anyone, and everything will be okay."

"That would be one choice," Nick agreed. "Speaking from experience, though, it's a great way to have a shorter life. Though if you don't leave the city, you'd probably be okay; very few immortals come this way."

"You said that before, about how few immortals come here. I don't get it."

"I like my privacy," Connor answered in a tone that said exactly how he obtained it.

Nick shot him a look, opened his mouth to try and make the Highlander back down from his menacing tone, then closed it when Connor merely stared at him, one eyebrow quirked in silent query. Nick didn't quite understand why Connor was trying to intimidate Craig, but he could see the value in not letting out any more information about Connor than Craig needed to know.

Craig swallowed hard. "Okay. Got it. No telling anyone where you live. So, what else is there? Walking away and doing nothing isn't something you're recommending."

"You could live on holy ground."

"You mean like a monk or something?" Craig burst out incredulously. "Nobody does that anymore."

As if Craig's reaction was entirely expected, Connor continued smoothly, "Or you could study with a friend of mine."

Nick looked up at that, but decided against questioning his teacher's judgment. Though he didn't think Connor would take Craig on as a student, not when he had Nick already, he didn't know of any immortal Connor called friend beyond the one he called kinsman. Friends weren't something Connor often spoke of, though Nick figured he had them. Maybe this friend was someone who owed Connor a favor? He'd ask later, when it wouldn't seem like he was questioning Connor's judgment.

Craig, however, had no qualms. "Why couldn't you teach me what I need to know?"

"I already have a student," Connor answered. "Matthew's a good man. He's with the FBI. He'll be up to meet you Monday; he can't be here any sooner than that."

"Do you want me to accompany you home?" Nick offered, taking the cue.

Craig stared at the two men. Both could easily see the emotions crossing his face: confusion, fear, and a kind of wary acceptance. "As long as you don't mind paying for the subway ride. I seem to be missing a wallet."

Connor's short laugh resounded before Nick replied, "I figured that would be the case."

* * *

Going to New York a week before Christmas had not been in Matthew McCormick's plans. He'd managed to wrangle (through some careful maneuvering on his part, aided by the wrap-up of a particularly nasty case) some vacation time at the holidays, an unheard-of occurrence for anyone in law enforcement, even a top FBI agent. He'd been looking forward to just catching up on all the things he didn't have time to do. Connor's call had changed that.

Favors seemed to have a genuine gift for coming due at the worst damn times, Matthew thought as the cab pulled up to Nash's Antiques. He'd waved off the offer to be met at the train station, preferring the anonymity of arriving without an escort. Matthew's mouth twisted in a sardonic smile as he remembered just what kind of favor he owed Connor.

"Damned Yankee pirate," he muttered under his breath as he paid the driver and grabbed his duffel bag containing his sword and a few changes of clothes. Matthew knew, even as he cursed, that he owed Connor his life. If Connor's ship hadn't picked him up as a prisoner of war, he would've had to swim back to shore...and drowned a few times in the process. No matter how much Matthew tried to argue that being made a POW erased the debt, Connor had been adamant, and had even pointed out that he had arranged for an escape once they'd gotten to port. That left Matthew dangling on a point of honor, and he'd been born in an age of chivalry, when honor meant more than life. Even now, though time and experience had shown him that honor was sometimes a complicated thing to have, Matthew still believed in upholding it.

The store's door opened easily, jangling the bell. For a moment, Matthew was swept into the past as a unique scent rose to greet him: old wood, worn leather, and cleaning polish mingled with the intangible sense that here was something that knew about age. It was only for a moment, though: the immortal presence that throbbed at his senses was strong, demanding a response from him. He took a deep breath and searched for the source of the presence.

The appearance of a petite, fifty-something woman with graying blonde hair interrupted his search, however. "May I help you?" she asked in a pleasant voice.

He smiled. "I'm Matthew McCormick. I believe I'm expected?" He deliberately deepened his Southern drawl, aware of its effect on women, and not above using charm to get what he wanted.

Before she could reply, Connor appeared. "Rachel, it's all right," he assured her. "Matthew's an old friend."

The woman relaxed somewhat at Connor's assurance, and then stepped out of the way. Matthew stared at the Highlander a moment before extending a hand. Memories flashed through his mind, of other favors exchanged, other debts paid and returned — he hated being the one in debt this time. "Been a long time."

That hand was warily accepted and shaken firmly. "Not long enough by your standards, I'd wager," Connor guessed, one eyebrow raised with an amusement he didn't allow into his voice. Even as Matthew narrowed his gaze at the all-too-accurate statement, Connor turned slightly and gestured towards the back room of the store. "Craig's in the office."

Matthew smiled, recognizing the self-preservation in the invitation. He said nothing, though, as Connor led the way to the office. He'd known Connor long enough to know that he wasn't a fool or a man for small talk. Nor was he surprised to find two immortals he had never met before waiting in the room. ?The one on Matthew's immediate right was a tall, dark brown haired, athletically built man in his early thirties. Dressed in a denim long-sleeved shirt and jeans, he still had the stamp of someone who'd been a police officer, right down to the faintly challenging way he met Matthew's gaze and wordlessly asked, "You're an FBI agent?" Matthew hid a smile and turned his attention to the other man on his far right.

This one was younger, less hardened by life, and clearly uncomfortable as he slouched against the far wall and tried to look inconspicuous. He reminded Matthew of one of the mail clerks he'd seen around the office, right down to the purple long-sleeved shirt that the young man wore over tan khakis. The only difference between the mail clerk and the young man who stood before Matthew was the fact that the mail clerk had the weight to go along with the tank-like build. Someone had been starving this one.

"Matthew, this is Nick Wolfe, my student," Connor announced, indicating the oldest of the pair. "And next to him is Craig Halverson, _your_ new student. Nick, Craig, meet Matthew McCormick."

Nick's handshake was firm, no less than what Matthew expected. Craig's was more uncertain, as if formality was something he wasn't too sure of and hadn't had a lot of practice with. Slouching uncomfortably, hands in the pockets of his khakis, he only muttered a hello, but did manage to meet Matthew's gaze.

"Good morning to you both," Matthew greeted. Peripherally, he was aware of Nick's reaction to his accent, but Matthew cared less about what Nick thought of him and more about what Craig thought, and, just as importantly, how he reacted.

Craig, for his part, seemed as startled as Nick was, and immediately shot a look at Nick for reassurance, a look that was instantly dropped when he realized Nick's attention was elsewhere. Nick glanced at Connor. Matthew could almost read the silent exchange that silenced Nick's questions even before he could begin to speak them. Reluctantly, Nick said, "We'll leave you two to get acquainted."

"We'll talk more later, I'm certain," Matthew acknowledged as the men left the room. Once the door had shut behind them, Matthew turned to Craig. "I'm not what you were expecting, I take it."

With a snort, Craig answered, "Like Mr. Closed-Mouth and Mr. Ex-Cop had a lot to say about you? I'd get more information from a public phone book in the Bronx." He shrugged, clearly resigned. "They said you're taking me to D.C. That's not really the South."

"No, it's not," Matthew replied. "I haven't always lived there. I've lived in a lot of different places over the years." He chuckled. "There was a time when having an English accent was a liability." He paused, studied the younger man. "Yes, I'm taking you home with me. I can't stay here in New York; my life is in D.C., and it would be easier for me to train you if you were living with me. If there's anything you're leaving behind here, now's the time to speak up."

Craig thought a moment. "My job, my apartment, my sister...." he started.

"What do you do?"

"I handle customer complaints for the phone company," Craig answered, his voice wry with self-mocking humor. "I like my job, but getting my ear chewed off for something I didn't do or can't help with isn't something I want to do for the rest of my life. Couldn't afford college, so I didn't have a lot of options when I got out of high school." He brightened. "I earn good money now, though, and finally got a nice place this year." Frowning, he continued, "I'm supposed to sign a new lease in a few days."

"And your sister? Are you close?"

Craig met Matthew's eyes then. "Risa is my twin," he stated in a voice that said he'd die to protect her. "Why? Does that matter?"

Matthew chose not to answer directly. In his seven hundred years, he'd heard of a few immortal siblings, but he couldn't remember of any that were fraternal twins. "Have you talked to Risa since you died?"

Craig nodded. "I called her yesterday. She was pretty worried about me because she felt something happen. I told her that I got mugged, but I didn't tell her about dying."

"Felt something happen?"

Gesturing, Craig clarified, "She and I have this bond. I don't know how to explain it. I know when something happens to her, and she knows when something happens to me. It's not —" He struggled for the words. "It's not like we're psychic or anything, but it's just there. I know, she knows."

Nodding his understanding, Matthew then asked, "Did you tell her you were moving?"

"She thinks I got this brand new job out of state." Craig paused. "That wasn't my idea. I wanted to tell her what happened, but..." His voice trailed off and he looked at the older immortal, who gave him an understanding smile in return. "I hate lying to her, but like Nick pointed out to me yesterday, she'd worry if I didn't, since we're close and I usually see her every week. I promised her I'd say goodbye, though."

"Then we will." Matthew smiled. "From what Connor told me, you weren't reported dead, so you have a bit more time than some others in your shoes. You'll see Risa again, I'm sure."

* * *

As Matthew soon discovered, Craig's entire life fit into exactly three boxes, an oversized gym bag, and a milk crate. A call to the Salvation Army took care of his old couch, dinette and mattress, so his belongings consisted of his clothes, twenty CDs, a small boom box stereo, an answering machine, and a few videotapes. With Connor's help, Matthew arranged the shipment of most of it, leaving Craig with a single carry-on bag, and then Matthew sweet-talked the super for Craig's building into releasing Craig's deposit early. A visit to Craig's employer dealt with his employment status. Matthew then arranged for a late evening train back for the both of them. By the time they were through, it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon.

At Matthew's suggestion, Craig called his sister to meet them for dinner. As Risa wasn't there yet, the two men waited for her in the lobby of the restaurant, which was decorated in a mix of collectibles and nostalgia.

"You don't waste much time, do you?" Craig commented. He sounded tired from the day's events.

Matthew looked up from his perusal of the black-and-white photographs that lined the lobby walls. "Not usually." He glanced at the younger man, in time to catch Craig's apparent fascination with a passing waitress. "However, I do believe there are some things worth slowing down for."

Craig chuckled, noticing the innuendo in the older man's tone. "I can handle that." His smile widened as a slender woman walked in the door. She wore a black leather jacket, unzipped to reveal a red tank top. The top was cut low, emphasizing a small, well-supported bust. She'd completed the outfit with vinyl-look black leather pants and knee-high black boots with spike heels. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was frosted with a streak of blond that framed her oval face. She'd tucked one part of her hair behind her triple-pierced right ear. Sopping wet, Matthew guessed she'd weigh in about a hundred and twenty pounds - slightly underweight for her build, just like her brother.

"Risa!" Craig exclaimed before he hugged her.

"Hi, Bro," she greeted, returning the embrace.

Matthew took the brief moment to reassess Risa. He hadn't felt the faint whisper of immortality that bespoke of pre-immortal status, though he silently acknowledged his accuracy at that wasn't as good as he felt it should be. Still, he doubted that she was pre-immortal. Risa was a fraternal twin; though Matthew was no expert, he did remember reading something recently about a serial killer who was one half of a twin pair, and who was found to share only 25% of his DNA in common with his twin. That fact had stuck out in Matthew's mind, and now, seeing Risa and Craig together, sent a host of questions through his brain. Silently, he promised himself that a call to his teacher, Ceirdwyn, was in order.

Risa turned to him then. "You must be Mr. McCormick. Craig didn't tell me you were so handsome," she gushed.

"Thank you, Miss Risa, you look lovely yourself," he returned formally. "I cannot, however, take credit for something God has done."

The siblings exchanged a look between them. Matthew had seen that kind of look before; it was the "oh-no-he's-religious" look. Some part of him wasn't surprised; religion wasn't the highlight of modern life. That look, however, told him more about Craig, and revealed something he hadn't known a moment ago. Smoothly, he added, "But I digress. Shall we be seated? And please, call me Matthew."

Risa flashed him a quick smile. In a smooth motion that struck Matthew as being oddly protective, Craig stepped in front of Risa to lead the way to the hostess, who seated them in a booth decorated in an Elvis theme. Risa took the seat next to Craig, which meant the twins sat across from Matthew, with Craig on the outside so that he could have enough elbowroom since he was left-handed.

The older immortal's eyes narrowed as he realized Craig was a southpaw. Being one gave Craig a minor advantage to start with, but it also presented Matthew with a challenge, since Matthew was naturally right-handed. While Matthew had taught left-handed students before, it had been at least a century, and the last few immortals he'd faced had all been right-handed.

_Oh well, _Matthew decided. _That's what I get for owing an unspecified favor; payment invariably is as complicated as the circumstances that resulted in the favor being granted. Besides, I haven't sparred against a left-hander lately; this should prove to be an interesting experience and good practice for me._

"It's so cool that you came to pick up Craig," Risa exclaimed after the hostess took their drink orders. "I never heard of any boss doing that." Her voice and facial expression held an unmistakable innocence, the kind that spoke of a sheltered existence.

Matthew shrugged easily, having anticipated the question. "You work for some faceless corporation where you're just another warm body, you're not family to them. Craig is going to be my personal assistant. I work as an FBI agent now, but my family has been in the South a long time and we have some properties here and there that need some personal attention."

"No more Verizon, huh, Bro?" Risa teased Craig, referring to the firm who'd employed him. "Man, I wish I was going somewhere."

Their server arrived with their drink orders at that moment. There was a short pause while the orders were placed; from the way Risa and Craig rattled off theirs, Matthew could tell they came here often. It didn't escape Matthew's notice that Craig ordered a salad in opposition to his sister's hamburger; if that were typical of what Craig ate, it would explain why he seemed to be underweight for his build. Once the server had left, Matthew picked up the conversational thread again. "What would you like to do, Risa?"

She shrugged. "I like running a register and talking with people. I work at a pool hall. Do you play pool? I'm pretty good, but Craig always beats me. I've been at Six Pockets since I was sixteen. Pays good, the boss is okay, even if he's always trying to get in my pants, and I don't know. I don't take tests well, and everyone's testing for something these days."

"She's slow," Craig explained, putting a protective arm around her. "Dad dropped her when we were kids and she hit her head." He caught Matthew's horrified look. "No, no, I'm joking. It was an accident," Craig hastened to assure him. "We were playing on a trampoline and she just came down wrong. Messed up stuff in her brain, though."

"We were eight years old," Risa informed Matthew. "I had to have surgery, and they shaved my head. When it grew back, it was two different colors." She smiled and ran a hand through her hair, pulling a section of blonde hair in front of her face and propping her elbow up on the table to study her hair, clearly fascinated. "People were so envious because I didn't have to color it or anything."

Easily, Craig reached over and disentangled her hand from her hair, then pushed her elbow off the table. "Cool, huh?" he said, smiling, but Matthew read faint embarrassment in his eyes.

"I suspect your parents didn't feel the same way," Matthew observed.

The siblings chuckled. "No," they said in unison.

Risa continued, "They freaked worse over that than when Craig told them he was giving up on women."

"Yeah, it was like they were expecting that," Craig said, rolling his eyes. "I was serious!"

"For as long as it took you to get over Mary Ann," Risa clarified. "Everybody said I was dumb, but Mary Ann was dumber. Nobody believed you were actually kissing that football jock anyway. They thought you guys were just paying on a bet."

"Were you?" Not that it mattered in the end, but his student's sexual preferences were something Matthew needed to know. If nothing else, he'd know whether to give the "sexual orientation is a continuum" speech.

"Maybe," Craig hedged.

"'Maybe,' my ass," Risa shot back. "You got fifty bucks. I should know. You never paid back the twenty-five you borrowed from me in case you lost and had to pay - who was that kid who was always daring people to do stuff for money?"

"Anthony Scholosky. He was poorer than dirt, but everybody liked him. Easiest fifty bucks I ever won, even if I did get suspended for the rest of the day." Craig grinned. "Hell of a kiss, though."

The server brought over their orders then, and Matthew wasn't able to pursue that last conversational thread. He let it slide, preferring to use the opportunity to go into Craig's background and get a better feel for who he was.

"So where are your parents now?" Matthew asked.

"Oh," Risa said, and started to put her thumb in her mouth. Craig quickly caught the action, and someone less observant than Matthew would've missed it. Ducking her head slightly so that her face was partly hidden by her hair, she said, "The drunk guy's car ate them, and then we had to go find a new home."

Craig kept one hand in Risa's as he clarified, "They died a week after we graduated high school. We lost the house; insurance didn't cover much beyond the funeral and what Mom and Dad owed."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Matthew said sincerely.

"We managed," Craig allowed, and gripped Risa's hand in a gesture that struck Matthew as being more comforting for Risa than for Craig. "Risa and I had a place together, but now —"

"Now I got a roommate," Risa finished, brightening. "Tiffany's my best friend, and she's been my friend since we were nine, and we go shopping together. We don't let Craig come with us because he likes clothes too much."

Having seen that most of Craig's belongings were his clothes, Matthew wasn't too surprised at Risa's teasing. That quibbling lasted through the end of dinner.

Though he could see that the twins could talk forever, a quick glance at his watch told Matthew that they'd better get going to the train station. He said as much to Craig and Risa, who reluctantly ended their friendly squabbling. Matthew paid the bill for dinner over Risa's objections that it was her brother's last night in town and that it should be her turn.

"I guess this is goodbye," Risa told Craig a few minutes later as the trio stood beside a cab. "Call me when you get there, okay?"

"I will," Craig promised her, then hugged her. "Be careful taking the subway home," he admonished her as he got into the cab.

She smiled at him. "You be careful." She turned to Matthew, who'd hung back a little to let the twins have their moment together. "Take care of him for me, would you? He's a pain in the butt sometimes, but he's my twin brother, and he's all I got."

"I'll do my best," Matthew promised her as he took a seat beside Craig. Smiling her gratitude, Risa shut the door behind him and then stepped back.

* * *

Craig didn't remember much of the trip after that. Though he admitted that he'd never ridden Amtrak before as they seated themselves, he was exhausted enough that the ride was a blur. He did remember that Matthew had been forced to stow the long black case he carried in one of the overhead storage bins; until then, Craig hadn't realized Matthew had been carrying a sword. Beyond that, the rest of the trip barely registered until they arrived at Matthew's three-bedroom, two-story country estate on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Rather fuzzily, Craig recalled being told that there were three bathrooms in the house, two upstairs and one downstairs, and that he would be sleeping in the guestroom upstairs. Upon waking the next day, it took Craig several moments to remember where he was and how he got there.

A glance around the room located his carry-on bag, parked by the closet. Craig didn't know much about furniture, but he recognized old stuff when he saw it, and the four-poster he'd slept in wasn't something that one could purchase on a rent-to-own plan. The mattress and box springs felt new, though, and Craig was nosy enough to check under the bedding to make sure. The ubiquitous "do not remove under penalty of law" tag was still attached to the mattress, and Craig nodded once to himself, satisfied. As for the other furniture in the room, they matched the four-poster. The entire room reminded him of a movie he'd seen about the Civil War.

_Wonder if Matthew's had it since then? _Craig thought. _He hasn't told me yet how old he is or where he was from originally. He's gotta be old, though. All the teachers at school were. Makes sense if the immortals who teach others are old, too._

_Not that I know if that matters or not, _he reminded himself as he gathered a change of clothes so that he could take a shower. _Connor wasn't exactly happy to have me, and I got the impression that Nick wasn't either. Matthew's all right, but he can't be doing this just to be nice. He needs me like he needs a hole in the head. The whole bit about needing a personal assistant was just so Risa wouldn't think anything about me leaving with someone I don't know. I'm not even sure why he's even taking me on as a student except that Connor asked him. I don't even know what being a student of an immortal means, but I guess I'll find out soon enough. All I know is that I don't want to kill anyone._

_I don't want to die, though. I don't want Risa finding out, either. She's not smart enough to handle it._

Resignedly, Craig went to take a shower. When he was finished, he followed the sound of a TV to the living room downstairs. He froze for a minute as the rush of presence flooded his head, clouding his vision, and he breathed deeply to clear it. For a moment, Nick's words about not feeling presence rushed back to him, and Craig laughed sourly, wondering just how much he'd been out of it that morning to have missed it. A few cautious steps forward, and Craig found Matthew seated on a sofa, watching CNN and drinking coffee.

"Good morning, Craig. Take deep breaths; the feeling will pass in a moment."

Craig did as Matthew suggested and found that while the intensity of the pain diminished, the sensation only eased into a dull throb — just enough pressure to make him aware that he wasn't the only immortal in the room. It wasn't the worst headache he'd ever had, but it did make his eyes water slightly. He blinked, and then walked into the living room to sit in the side chair next to the sofa as Matthew turned off the TV.

"Just so you know, I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that," Craig told Matthew as Matthew offered him coffee from a silver coffee service that rested on the table in front of the sofa. Craig refused the offer with a wave of his hand.

Matthew smiled and set the coffeepot down. "Good. That way, you don't take it for granted." He paused, and then looked at his new student. "First order of business today is breakfast."

Craig stared at him. "You're kidding."

"Something wrong with breakfast? You don't like it?"

"No, I just thought you'd be all gung-ho about the sword thing. Connor and Nick made it sound like it was urgent that I had a teacher, like it was the end of the world if I didn't."

"You couldn't stay in New York City," Matthew responded flatly. "It's not a place for a new immortal to be; there are too many who would love to see Connor MacLeod dead, and he would feel obligated to make sure you're safe. He can't do that and see to his own student's protection."

"Oh." Sensing that coffee probably wouldn't be a bad idea after all, Craig reached for the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. The silver coffeepot was heavier than he expected, though, and it wobbled dangerously before he was able to grasp it firmly and pour a cup.

"We'll need to work on your upper arm strength," Matthew observed mildly. "But that can wait until later today."

Craig breathed a sigh of relief; he had a feeling his concept of a workout and Matthew's were entirely different things. Then he took a sip of coffee. The first taste of it poured over his tongue like nothing he'd ever had. It was a world away from the coffee he used to get in the machines at Verizon. In fact, it was worse. He swallowed painfully and put down his cup. "So what do you plan on doing with me?" he asked, hoping that he could engage Matthew in conversation and forget about the coffee.

Matthew smiled. "Since you don't like my coffee," he began, "I suppose I could get started. That is, if you're awake."

"I'm awake." Craig made a face. "You make coffee that demands you wake up and stay there. That's about the only good thing about it."

Matthew chuckled. "Good, then it didn't go to waste," he stated briskly. "Now, about breakfast."

Craig shrugged. "I don't eat it."

"Why not? It's a good way to fuel the body for the rest of the day. Or did you not earn enough for more than a salad a day?"

Feeling as though he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Craig hunched his shoulders forward slightly. "Rent was the cheapest I could find it without it being in the projects. Mom and Dad always were telling us that we were better than that, even if we were poor because Dad was laid off a lot. Then I had to get a subway pass so I could get around, and I had to make sure that I checked on Risa because she's so brainless she'd forget to take care of herself, and I'm always cold and I like clothes, so I figured I'd go with the healthier stuff. Get a salad, go running when I got hungry, and I wasn't screwing up completely 'cause I was eating right and exercising, you know?"

"You cheat yourself when you don't fuel your body as you should," the older immortal replied.

"You sound pretty sure about that," Craig muttered, abruptly getting to his feet and walking a few steps away.

Matthew shook his head and said quietly, "I fought in winter campaigns. Without double rations, seasoned troops slowed to half their usual speed because it took until noon or longer for them to warm up. Food can substitute for warmer clothes, Craig, and if it has to, for sleep. Starting today, however, you will learn how to eat properly, and how to cook. You're going to need all the strength you can call on when you're in a fight, and there's no reason to be undernourished."

Turning, Craig argued, "But—"

Matthew stared at the younger man. "Craig, the manner of your training is not up for debate. This is not a democracy. Do you want to live?"

"Well, yeah, sure, but I don't get the whole immortal Game thing," Craig retorted, gesturing. "You'll have to excuse me if the first two immortals I've met haven't exactly painted rosy pictures of what I should expect."

"What did they tell you?" Matthew asked, concerned.

Surprised by the tone, Craig answered, "About immortality or about you? Connor said only that you were friends, and that you were an FBI agent. He wasn't exactly Mr. Chatty. I guess he didn't tell Nick much either, 'cause it seemed like from the moment I —" he took a deep breath, fighting the memory that flashed through his head every time he thought of it, and sat down? "— woke up from being dead, Nick just took charge of me, keeping me company and basically trying to keep me from freaking out, I guess. He answered most of my questions about immortality, but I got the impression he would've rather died than be immortal, like he didn't really see any good thing about being able to live forever."

"Did he say why?"

Craig shrugged. "Something about this thief chick, Amanda I think her name was, shooting him, and how he had the hots for her, but didn't think they should be together because in the end there can only be one." He shrugged again. "Amanda apparently told him about immortals before he died but left out the part where he was going to be one, and he spent the next few months running into a few of her old friends. He said that most of those old friends got their heads chopped off, and there were a few that Amanda would've probably left alone if he hadn't gotten mixed up in it."

"I've arrested Amanda a few times over the years," Matthew remarked carefully. "She's not known for being a headhunter, or for caring much about consequences. I'm not surprised Nick feels betrayed by her; she's a thief, and thieves are not known for being honorable, or reliable." His voice and gestures had increased as he'd spoken the last words. Realizing how passionate he'd become, Matthew paused. "Forgive me. Where Amanda is concerned, I have my own score to settle with her; she's managed to escape my custody a few times. As for having to take the heads of old friends, it isn't always like that, Craig."

"Then what? You haven't been Mr. Forthcoming yourself."

"My deepest apologies," Matthew said sincerely. "My name isn't Matthew McCormick; it's Matthew of Salisbury, but since no one uses that wording anymore, I chose McCormick to be my last name. With a few exceptions here and there, I've been Matthew McCormick since I arrived in the Americas. I was born in 1222 in Salisbury, England." He let that information sink in before continuing, "I was a knight, representing my lord, in a tourney in the year of our Lord 1255, when I lost a joust." Matthew's eyes darkened at the memory and his face tightened, even as the Southern accent he'd long ago adopted took on a slightly English pitch. "If my horse had not faltered, I would have avoided the thrust my opponent made. I was fortunate that my lord's court that day included an old friend of the family, the Lady Ceirdwyn, else I would have had a difficult time explaining my miraculous recovery-if I was not burned as a witch."

Craig gaped at him. "You. Were. An actual knight? I thought that was just stuff they made up for video games and movies."

"Sworn to protect my lord's honor, his lands, his castle, and his family." The old oath rolled off Matthew's tongue easily, and he chuckled softly, partly at himself, partly at the disbelief on his student's face. "I was raised to believe that ladies were never warriors, that I should be the one protecting them, not the other way around. Ceirdwyn changed my mind; she was my teacher, and she never let me forget that women aren't the weaker sex. Fairer sometimes, but not weaker."

Craig continued to stare at him as Matthew's words sunk in. Then he began to chuckle. "You had a woman for your first teacher?" He looked at his teacher, amused wonder in his eyes. "Oh man, that must've been a hell of an adjustment for a knight."

"Probably not as much as the one you're making," Matthew said briskly, leaning forward intently. "I was trained to fight; I came from a family of knights. I knew I would die in battle someday. You, on the other hand, grew up believing that fighting was something someone else did, and that war would probably be somewhere else and you'd watch it on TV." The old immortal gentled his voice, seeing the comprehension dawn in Craig's expression. "The Game can happen anywhere, anytime. The trade off for playing the Game, surviving it, is the chance to see things you never dreamed would be possible become reality."

"Like what?" Craig asked, the laughter gone from his voice. Silently, Matthew congratulated Craig for his ability to take life seriously, at least, when it came to what was important.

"When I was born, traveling to the next town wasn't something you did on a regular basis; even if you had a fast horse, you'd still only be traveling thirty miles a day in good weather. You stayed in the place you were born, pledged allegiance to the lord owning the land where you were born, worked for that lord, and went to church. If you were especially lucky, you would be blessed by God and your lord, and your hard work in the fields or in service to your lord would be rewarded. Think about everything that's happened in just the last few years of your life, and then think about seeing all of that multiplied across more than one lifetime."

As Matthew had suspected Craig would, Craig sat in silence for several minutes, thinking over what he'd been told. Then he stood and paced a short distance, biting his bottom lip as he concentrated. Finally, he turned and faced Matthew.

"Why are you doing this? I mean, you don't get any money out of it, and I know there's supposed to be only one of us in the end, so why do it at all?"

"I could tell you I owed Connor a favor," Matthew began, "but that would imply I'm teaching you out of obligation to someone else, that it was the only reason I'm doing this. It's not." Matthew shook his head, underscoring his words. "I teach new immortals because there is no one else I can pass on my life's knowledge to, no children, no blood heirs, no apprentices lining up at my door. This is one tradition I carry with me, and it never stops being needed, never stops being useful, never becomes a part of yesterday. It's important to me. If one of my students ends up taking the Prize, so be it."

"You've had to kill people," Craig stated, his voice turning the statement into almost an accusation. "People you knew, people you loved, people you once called friend. Nick kept talking about that."

"Yes," Matthew admitted with a measure of regret in his tone. "People change, and not always for the better. I wish I could say that Nick was wrong on that score, but I won't lie to you. The Game is not for everyone, and the price for staying alive to see a life beyond your mortal years is high." He looked at Craig. "However, I'm in no hurry to see the end of the Game. Most immortals aren't. I do believe that there are some laws that shouldn't be broken, that it is our responsibility to ensure that the ones who would cause harm to the general public should be dealt with."

"That whole 'mankind will suffer an eternal darkness if an evil immortal wins the Prize' thing?" Craig asked, remembering what Nick had told him.

"Yes. And mortals can't always deal with an immortal criminal, for any number of reasons."

Craig mulled this over and crossed his arms. "But if I'm good enough, I might live to be as old as you, or at least as old as Connor. If I'm too good, though, people will come looking for me. That's why Connor couldn't take me." He looked at Matthew anxiously. "But it's okay to have immortal friends, right? I mean, you're teaching me, and I don't have to take your head?"

"There is no 'have to', Craig," Matthew informed him. "Not unless you're challenged, and even then, you don't have to accept the challenge. I would hope that you don't use what you learn against me. There is no honor in betrayal."

"No, I couldn't do that," Craig responded quickly. "I mean, I'm not even sure if I could take someone's head — that sounds really, really gross — but I know there's stuff I'd kill for." He chuckled softly. "Used to say that all the time, that I'd kill for a new Hilfiger shirt, or a new CD, but I never really meant it. Nick was asking me the other day if I wanted to kill the idiot who killed my parents."

"Did you?"

"Son of a bitch walked away with just a couple of scratches," Craig spat. "Hell, yeah, I'd love to, especially since he got only a few years in jail. But I know it's not gonna bring my parents back. I mean, I've always known that they weren't my birth parents, but they were as real to me as anyone else's." The grief he rarely showed in front of Risa rose to thicken his throat, and he swallowed. "I thought they'd live forever. Can immortals have kids?"

"No, I'm sorry, we can't. No one knows where we come from or why immortality is only given to a few."

Craig shrugged. "I wasn't interested in having 'em anyway. I wouldn't want them to be like me." He grinned abruptly. "Risa and I used to get into so much trouble. She's like a little kid sometimes, but I know it's 'cause she got messed up when we were kids. I was always bailing her out of something, and then getting in trouble because I hadn't watched her close enough to keep her out of trouble." He paused. "I can call her anytime and make sure she's okay, right?"

"Of course." Matthew smiled. "Was there anything else you'd like to ask?"

"We got until you say I'm ready, right?" Craig asked. Matthew nodded. "Then I guess not. I mean, I can ask you anything, anytime, right?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I guess I'm ready for whatever you want to do with me." He paused and studied the tray that sat on the coffee table. "You aren't really serious about me eating more, are you? Because I gotta tell you, I don't know if I can do it. I mean, I'll have to buy new clothes, and I don't have any money."

Matthew chuckled. "Did you think I was joking when I offered you a job?"

"You're really going to pay me?"

"While you're under my protection, I am honor bound to see to your needs," Matthew told him. "Above that, you will need some means of providing for yourself that does not attract attention should you need to leave abruptly. You said yourself that you didn't want to be a customer service representative all of your life; I'm in need of someone to check on a few properties I own to see if they're being managed properly. You have a sharp mind, and you're not as shallow as you appear to be."

Craig smiled and ducked his head, uncomfortable with the compliment. "This is important," he said. "I gotta deal, and deal right now, same way I had to deal with Mom and Dad dying. Risa didn't handle that well, so I had to be strong for both of us."

From the way Matthew smiled and nodded, Craig got the impression he'd passed some sort of test. He soon learned that was the first of many.

The first week passed quickly. Matthew was a patient, meticulous, quietly demanding teacher, while Craig was a willing if not always eager student. Matthew's house contained a ballroom on the lower floor, which he used as an exercise room; here, Craig began to develop the skills he needed to survive the Game. At the end of the week, Craig's meager belongings arrived, along with several boxes addressed to Matthew.

Standing in the living room, Craig surveyed the pile of boxes they'd picked up from the post office box Matthew rented and remarked, "You know, it's a good thing I'm gaining some muscles. This stuff is heavier than I remember."

"Not all of it is yours," Matthew replied as he began to open the boxes using a pocketknife he'd pulled out of his pants pocket. "Connor had some things in his shop that I wanted." A quick slice of the knife across four boxes confirmed what Matthew wanted to know. "Why don't you take these boxes I just opened up to your room and come back when you've finished unpacking?"

"No problem," Craig replied, stacking two. He started to reach for the third, but Matthew's hand on the box stopped him.

"You're going up stairs. You need to see where you're going," Matthew reprimanded, mildly but firmly.

"Oh, yeah," Craig agreed sheepishly. "That would help."

Twenty minutes later, after retrieving the last two boxes of his possessions, his unpacking finished, Craig returned to find the remaining two boxes gone, their contents as much a mystery as when they'd arrived. Matthew appeared relaxed as he read the paper, but Craig knew him well enough now to know that his arrival hadn't gone unnoticed.

The moment Craig stepped into the living room, Matthew folded the paper and set it down on the coffee table. As Craig walked into the room, he could see that Matthew had put the paper beside a long black case similar to what Craig remembered him carrying through the train station.

"You got a new sword?" Craig asked as he took a seat beside his teacher.

Matthew nodded. "Why don't you open the case and take a look?"

Leaning forward, Craig found that the case was secured with three clasp locks, and that opening it would be easier if he knelt in front of the table. Going to his knees, he unlocked the case and then opened it. Cradled within the velvet was a sword that didn't look all that different from the broadsword Craig knew Matthew carried; the length was about the same, but the hilt was steel rather than brass, and the whole sword looked heavier. "Nice looking sword," Craig commented, moving back to his seat without touching it.

Matthew stood, picked up the sword, and moved to where Craig sat. Alarmed, Craig rose to his feet and started to back up. The chair impeded his progress. By sheer force of will, Craig managed not to stumble into the seat, though he bobbled.

"What are you going to do with that?" Craig managed to say, swallowing hard, since the edge of the blade of the sword was still facing him.

Matthew smiled and laid the blade flat across his arm, hilt towards Craig. "Give it to you."

Craig hesitated, then, seeing Matthew's nod of permission, took hold of the leather-wrapped grip. It was lighter than he'd expected, and he had an odd sense of rightness at the weight and feel of the sword in his hands. "Wow. Cool. Thanks," Craig said, stunned.

"Take care of it, live with it, and treat it as you would your best friend. Some days, it may be the only friend you have," Matthew declared solemnly. "Merry Christmas, Craig, two days early."

Still in shock, Craig could only grope for the words to express his gratitude. It took him several moments, but he found his voice eventually. "I won't let you down, Matthew."

"Don't worry about letting me down. Worry about letting yourself down; it might cost you your head someday." The older immortal stepped back, leaned down, and shut the sword case. Straightening, he said, "Before we go and get you used to using that, I do have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Gingerly, Craig laid the blade of his new sword across his arm as he'd seen his teacher do, and asked, "What?"

"Would you like Risa to spend Christmas with us?"

"Would I?" Craig exclaimed. "Oh man, that would be so cool. Can she?"

Matthew smiled. "Would you like to call her and invite her? I'll cover the cost of the ticket."

"Isn't that expensive, though?" Craig asked as he exchanged the sword for the cordless phone that Matthew handed him.

Abruptly, Craig was brought up short when he found his brand-new sword at his throat. "Just a reminder," Matthew informed him calmly. "Never give away your sword. Doing so leaves you unarmed, defenseless, and vulnerable. Friends can quickly turn into enemies when you least expect." The blade bit lightly at his skin, not enough to break it, but enough that Craig knew he'd never forget that particular lesson.

As quickly as the motion had been made, it was retracted. Matthew presented Craig with his sword. He took it again and then tried to decide what he was going to do with it and the phone at the same time. He could feel Matthew watching him with that measuring look of his, waiting to see how he'd deal with this particular problem. Finally, Craig settled for sitting down with the sword across his lap, the phone in his right hand, leaving his sword hand free.

"You're learning," Matthew said approvingly. "As for the cost? I won't do it all the time, but it is your first Christmas away from your sister, and I've always believed that Christmas should be celebrated with family whenever possible."

"The family that raised you, what were they like?"

Matthew smiled. "Call your sister first. Then we'll talk."

After checking his watch to see what time it was, Craig dialed the number for the pool hall where Risa worked. The phone was answered halfway through the third ring.

"Merry Christmas, you've reached Six Pockets," Risa greeted. "Where you can shoot all day and not get arrested. This is Risa, can I help you?"

"Hi, Risa."

"Craig!" Risa exclaimed. "I was just thinking about you!? How's work?"

"Great," Craig enthused. "Listen, would you like to spend Christmas with me and Matthew? Matthew said he'd cover your train ticket if you'd come."

"Okay, but I only got a half day off on Christmas Eve and all of Christmas Day. Which subway do I get on? Oh wait, didn't you say plane? I gotta figure out how to get to the airport."

"No, I know you. You'll get lost in an airport and miss your flight. You're going on the train, not just the subway. Ask Sarah to take you there; she rides the train to Baltimore all the time to see her sister."

"Oh!? Yeah, I could ask her to take me. Oh, this is so cool. I get to see you at Christmas and I didn't think I would. So you're coming up, right?"

"No, Risa, you're coming here," Craig said impatiently.

"No need to get snotty. I was just asking."

Craig exhaled, calming himself. "Okay. I'll have to call you back with all the stuff you'll need to know so you get here. How late are you working today?"

"Um, I'm working a double. Nancy called in sick."

"And that jackass is making you cover for her again?"

"Yes, but I need the money."

Craig sighed. "All right," he conceded. "I'll call you back, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be here."

The twins hung up at the same time. Craig turned to his mentor. "She can come, but it would be a short visit." He then told him about Risa's time off as he handed over the phone.

"Don't worry," Matthew assured him, taking the phone. "Let me just make a few calls and I'll arrange everything."

"Thanks, Matthew."

While the older man handled the travel arrangements, Craig took the opportunity to examine his new sword more thoroughly. Experimentally, careful to keep a non-threatening distance away from his teacher, Craig cut air with the sword, and found it to be light, fast, and almost too difficult to control. He'd gotten used to the heavier weight of one of Matthew's spare broadswords.

He caught Matthew watching him, and sheepishly stopped what he was doing. His teacher looked at him inquiringly as if to say, "Why did you stop?" Craig shook his head, not wanting to explain and feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, and decided it would be better to wait out Matthew's calls in the privacy of his own room.

Seeing Craig head for the stairs, a little unbalanced as he essentially tried to sneak out of the room with his sword, Matthew bit back the chuckle that threatened to escape. He politely thanked his travel agent for booking the train he'd requested and then gave her permission to send the itinerary to his e-mail. He disconnected the call and started to put down the phone on the coffee table, and then he paused. A glance at his watch told him it should be evening in Paris, but not late enough to be rude.

"Hello?" a woman's voice greeted hesitantly in French.

Easily, Matthew switched languages. "Good evening, my dear lady Ceirdwyn, and Merry Christmas. I trust I'm not calling too late?"

"Only if you're trying for my birthday."

Aware that she didn't remember the precise date, Matthew chuckled. "I'm supposed to remember what it is this year when you haven't told me yet? You keep changing it, and I'm lucky that I know how to track you down, else I'd never find you."

"You're not getting out of it that easily," she teased him. Then her tone turned serious. "You only call me when there's trouble on your mind, Matthew. Tell me."

"I have a new student. His name is Craig Halverson."

"I thought you said you weren't going to take on any new students," Ceirdwyn exclaimed in surprise. "You said Lila was your last one, that you were — what was it you said? Oh yes, I remember now — 'through with the ones who refused to listen and then blamed you when they got into trouble.'"

"I didn't call you to discuss Lila," Matthew said sharply. "She's been out of the Game since before the Great War."

"I know," was the patient, soothing reply. "Charleston. You scared the hell out of my servants, arriving in the middle of a thunderstorm with her body in your arms."

Matthew closed his eyes, reluctantly remembering the headstrong woman he'd raised from a toddler, through her first death from a fall from a horse, until her final death at the hands of an immortal known for hunting students of other immortals. Matthew hadn't been able to track down that particular immortal, and he'd never forgotten that particular injustice. Pushing the memories aside, he took a deep breath, aware that he'd yet to answer his teacher's implied question. "I owed Connor MacLeod an unspecified favor. He decided to collect by sending me a student to teach."

Ceirdwyn chuckled softly. "Matthew, the entire world owes Connor for taking down the Kurgan. I'd gladly take on a student to pay on that debt; I tangled with that —" She used an expletive in a language Matthew didn't recognize "— and nearly lost my head. As it was, he killed a friend of mine. So, tell me what is so troublesome about this new student."

"Craig has a twin sister named Risa."

"Have you met her?" the Iceni woman asked calmly. "No, you wouldn't be calling if you hadn't already met her, and you've always had more trouble recognizing who'll be one of us than me. I can't tell you for certain either way, Matthew, not unless I meet Craig and Risa. The last set of immortal twins I knew were identical, but they didn't last long in the Game. They thought they could live out their lives in a monastery; it proved to be a mistake." She sighed, faint regret and resignation coloring her tone. "In any case, I don't remember a brother and sister in the Game. It's not even common for there to be family ties like the ones Connor and Duncan share. Maybe before my time it was, but not that I can remember."

Aware that Ceirdwyn had more than two thousand years of living to recall, Matthew didn't doubt his teacher's words. "I don't suppose you know anyone older than you?" he ventured.

"Still living? I wouldn't know, Matthew. Duncan MacLeod told me Rebecca is dead, sad loss to us all that is. Darius, also, I fear. Last I knew, Constantine was alive, but that was at least six years ago. I've tried to limit my contact with others like us; all I've wanted these last few centuries was a simple, uncomplicated life, shared with someone I love." The words were spoken gently, without rebuke. "I'm sorry I'm not much help to you tonight."

"You've given me more than I had, Ceirdwyn, and one or two different directions to think about. That's help in itself. Thank you." Matthew kept his regrets to himself as they closed off the conversation, but even after he'd put the phone down he stared unseeing at the wall. At almost eight hundred, he was not young, even for an immortal. Questions and problems such as this, however, were still beyond him, and even beyond his teacher, thanks to the Game. _All that knowledge we're losing.... Thousands of years and dozens of religions that teach people to respect their elders...except in the Game, where they're even better targets than the youngsters. _

"Damn it," he whispered. Unlike many in this day and age, he meant precisely what he'd said. With a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and faced the unknown as he had so many times before: with his head up, spine straight, and mind firmly determined that whatever the truth behind the mystery was, he'd find a way to cope. If he was lucky and skilled enough, he might just pass that strength onto his student. Something told Matthew that Craig was going to need it.

* * *

"She's probably missed the train."

"Give your sister some credit, Craig," Matthew rebuked gently as Craig drummed his fingers on the wall against which he leaned.

Craig slanted a wry look at him. "Oh, I do. She'll have gotten to the station, but she'll have gotten on the wrong train. She gets mixed up on which subway to take home from Six Pockets. Like that's changed in all the time she's gone to work there?" He sighed. "She's such a ditz."

Hearing the affection and impatience underlying Craig's words, Matthew smiled. "You did mention that her coworker was going to help her, wasn't she?"

"Yes, but that's only if Risa remembered to ask Sarah."

"Why don't you pace, if you're going to continue playing the wall?" Matthew suggested mildly, and then grinned when Craig shot him a "you've got to be kidding" look.

"Very funny," Craig retorted. "You got me this new coat yesterday just so you could see me stumbling around."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "You said it wasn't too long," he replied, deliberately being obtuse. He knew perfectly well that his student was referring to the weight of the black leather trench coat, which had been custom tailored to conceal a sword without a betraying drag or bulge on one side.

Craig glared at him, clearly not finding the humor in his teacher's words. "You think this is funny, trying to learn how to be im — what we are."

The older immortal smiled. "No," he answered honestly. "You're just easy to bait."

The train station's intercom blared then, announcing the arrival of the next scheduled train.

"We've been waiting an hour," Craig griped. "She's still in New —" Abruptly, hearing an excited murmur from the crowd behind them, he turned around.

Matthew copied his student's action in time to see the crowd of travelers parting to allow a running figure through. The white-blond streak of hair in an otherwise dark brown mass betrayed Risa's identity, an identification that was confirmed when, heedless of the backpack she carried, she threw her arms around Craig. The backpack came dangerously close to smacking Craig, yet Risa managed to shift the load in time to prevent disaster.

"I'm so glad I found you," she exclaimed. "I got so lost, trying to follow the colored lines. Then I thought I'd gotten on the wrong train, and you'd be so mad and you wouldn't wait like you did that one time in seventh grade, but then I found out it was running late, and this really cute Italian guy helped me and he —" Blushing, she cleared her throat. "Well, anyway, he was nice. Nice coat, Bro. Hi, Matthew."

Stepping back, she then skirted the row of seats to meet Craig and Matthew at the end of the aisle.

"Do you have any other bags?" Matthew asked.

Risa shook her head. "I didn't want to forget anything. I forgot to give Antonio back his cell phone, though. I borrowed it to tell Sarah I got here okay." She turned to Matthew. Biting her lower lip anxiously, she handed the phone to him. "Do you think you can get it back to Antonio? I tried that button that says 'home' but no one answered. I don't want him thinking I stole it."

Matthew pocketed the cell phone. "I'll try." He gestured with a hand and suggested, "If you're ready, why don't we head for the car?"

It didn't escape Matthew's notice that Craig kept a firm hand on Risa as he guided her back to where they'd left Matthew's Jeep Cherokee. He quickly discovered why. Risa's outfit today was the same leather ensemble that he'd last seen her in, except she'd traded the red tank top for a green one. In itself, her striking looks garnered a few second glances, but Risa seemed bent on checking out everything that caught her eye. That meant stopping her from wandering down a corridor opposite the one they needed to go down, convincing her that she didn't need to talk to the dwarf dressed as one of Santa's elves ringing the Salvation Army donation bell, and keeping her distracted from the sights around her with a constant stream of inane chatter. The moment they were in the Jeep and the vehicle was in motion, Risa fell asleep.

Amused by the sudden drop of energy, Matthew asked, "Is your sister always like this?"

Craig chuckled. "Only in cars. Subways, she does better, but car rides always made her fall asleep. Our parents used to say that it was the only time other than when we were sleeping we were quiet."

Matthew smiled, and let silence fill the vehicle until they returned to his house. Risa barely stirred as Craig picked her up and carried her into the downstairs guestroom, which shared a bathroom with the ballroom. Though it was only eight o'clock in the evening, Risa had had a three-hour train trip and she'd worked half a day, so neither man found it odd that she was tired.

Once she was settled, Craig wandered over to find Matthew in the kitchen, pulling out a pan from the refrigerator that Craig knew held marinated beefsteaks.

"How long do you think Risa will sleep?"

Craig glanced at his watch and leaned against the sink. "I was going to give her half an hour," he said. "She'd be mad if I let her sleep longer than that tonight. She's always hated missing out on anything."

"Then we'll make sure dinner is ready." Matthew handed the pan to him. "Remember what I told you about the beef yesterday? You're cooking tonight."

Craig groaned. "My sister's here and you still want me to take my turn in the kitchen?"

"No reason not to," the other man said calmly, stepping aside as Craig reached for the skillets, which hung over the kitchen's center island

"Do you really want me poisoning my sister?" Craig asked, even as he pulled down the largest skillet, set it on a burner, and turned on the stove. After a week of Matthew's tutelage, he knew how to do that much. "I don't want to kill her."

"You're not going to kill her," Matthew responded calmly as he turned off the burner and pulled out the broiler. "However, you are going to broil these steaks, and not fry them."

"Oh." Craig sighed, feeling stupid. "You did say we were going to do that when you showed me how to marinate them yesterday."

Smiling, his mentor reminded him, "The only way you're going to remember is if you practice what you learn. It doesn't mean that you're less intelligent." He handed the broiler to Craig, and then showed him how to put the steaks on it and set the broiler's temperature.

Even knowing Matthew was right, Craig couldn't help feeling as if he was back in school, having to learn everything all over again. All that Matthew had shown him so far was new, different, and frightening in its seriousness. Right then, the reality of his situation hit him: his sister was visiting him in a house that was a thousand miles away from everything he'd grown up with, he was living with a man he barely knew, and he was immortal. He shut the oven door and forced himself to breathe deeply.

"Something wrong?"

For a moment, Craig cursed the fact that he had a far-too-observant FBI agent for a teacher. "This is really how it's going to be, isn't it? Trying to figure out when I can see my sister, and having to lie about why I can't."

"Sometimes," Matthew agreed. "Did you always tell her where you were going and why?"

Craig started to reply, then stopped as the logic of that question sank in. "No," he admitted finally. "Sometimes it was easier not to tell her, because if I told her and she had to go somewhere else, she'd end up going to where I was instead of where she was supposed to be." He turned and faced the older man, who was leaning against the far counter with a patient expression on his face. "Guess this isn't all that different, is it?"

Matthew smiled and let his silence serve as an answer. "Does your sister drink wine?" he asked, turning the conversation away into what quickly became an introduction to wine that lasted until it was time to wake up Risa.

* * *

"So where's your family?" Risa asked Matthew as they sat down to dinner in the formal dining room.

"They died a few years ago," Matthew replied. "That's when I inherited this house." He smiled gently, though he was peripherally aware of Craig's sudden interest in his food. "Christmas was always a celebration, though."

"What was that like?" Risa wondered, interested.

"Oh," he answered casually, "we'd go to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, and then go to mass again on Christmas morning. We'd have a party, invite our friends and neighbors; decorate the house with ivy, mistletoe and holly, and light candles." Even as he said the words, some part of him regretted that he couldn't tell the rest of the truth. "My parents were Catholic."

"Wow," Risa murmured, clearly impressed. "We had this artificial tree that was crooked on one side, and we always had to turn the tree so that side didn't show up in the pictures. Santa didn't always come to our house, but Mom said it wasn't because I was bad or dumb."

"We went to church a couple of times," Craig added apologetically. "Mostly it was because someone asked us to go and we wanted to know what it was about."

"I liked the singing," Risa put in. "But then they asked for money, and —"

"— And we weren't allowed back," Craig interrupted, in such a way that left Matthew no doubt that they'd helped themselves to a bit of collection money.

"Well, they said it was going to go to poor people," Risa declared. "Mom said we were poor." She spoke with the wide-eyed innocence that Matthew was quickly discovering was characteristic of her, and with such indignation that he was hard-pressed not to laugh.

Just then, the cell phone that Risa had taken rang. Matthew had placed it on the table in the foyer, but as the foyer formed one wall adjoining the formal dining room, the ring was heard clearly. Matthew excused himself and took the call.

"Hello?" he answered cautiously.

"Oh, good," said a young-sounding male voice. "This is Antonio Morelli. I left my phone on the train to Washington, D.C., and I'd been talking to this beautiful brunette named Risa. Did she pick up the phone and take it home with her?"

"Yes, she did. If you're in the city, I can make sure you get it back," Matthew offered.

"Great," Antonio exclaimed with relief in his voice. "I know it's Christmas, and you're probably busy, so if I can get it back from you the day after Christmas, that would be fantastic. Anybody who'll call me is here in town anyway and anyone else will just have to wait."

"Where would you like to meet so I can give you back your phone?"

Antonio rattled off an address, adding, "It's my grandparents' house. I'm staying for the holidays. Can you come over at eleven or so? We should all be up by then. Is Risa going to be with you when you arrive?" The eager anticipation in the other man's voice made Matthew smile, especially when Antonio hastily added, "I mean, if it's all right that your daughter spends time with someone she just met."

Matthew didn't bother to correct Antonio's mistaken impression. "I'll see you the day after Christmas, Antonio."

Shortly after the debris from dinner had been cleaned up, Matthew offered, "I was planning on attending midnight Mass. You're welcome to join me."

"Oh, that would be so cool!" Risa exclaimed.

Craig glanced at his sister. "I think not," he said slowly. "We don't want to get you into trouble." He reached over and removed a brass candlestick out of Risa's hands as she tried to figure out how to pocket it. "No stealing, Risa. Not here in Matthew's house."

She pouted. "But he can afford it," she said in a very child-like voice.

"He can also arrest you for it," Craig told her sternly, and suddenly, Matthew realized just how they'd managed to survive after their parents had died. He had to fight the urge to smile wryly, and caught himself before Craig turned his gaze to him, an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, but if we went, we'd spend tomorrow trying to figure out what all she took."

"I like pretty things," Risa argued. "You didn't mind when I took pretty things."

"Yes, but not here. This is home for me now."

"Oh," Risa said with a look of understanding dawning on her face. "Sorry." She paused. "Can we go to church? I won't take anything, I promise." Using the fingers of her right hand, she made an X across her heart.

Matthew glanced at Craig. "Your decision," he said.

Craig hesitated even as Risa looked at him, pleading wordlessly. Sighing, he said, "I don't know if I have the clothes to wear."

"That means we're going," Risa crowed. "Come on, Bro, you look beautiful enough." She ran to the coat closet by the door and started reaching for Craig's coat, only to stop. For a moment, both Craig and Matthew feared she would've discovered the swords they'd stashed in the closet. By the time they reached her, however, they found her stroking the leather of Craig's coat, her head pressed against one sleeve, her eyes closed in an expression of bliss.

Craig breathed a sigh of relief. "Come on, Risa, let me get that."

"It's so soft," she exclaimed.

Craig rolled his eyes. "You are such a dork," he told his sister exasperatedly. "You wear leather all the time."

"Yes, but this is soooft."

"It's Italian." At that announcement, Risa turned to face her brother and let go of his coat. Taking the opening, Craig grabbed the heavy garment and deftly shoved his sister out of the closet and into Matthew, forcing the older man to catch her. Picking up the cue, Matthew held her slightly longer than was proper, allowing Craig time to shrug into his coat without revealing his sword, and to grab Risa's jacket.

"You smell good," Risa announced, staring owlishly up at Matthew. "I like that."

"Thank you," Matthew replied, taking her jacket from Craig. "May I help you into your jacket?"

Delighted by the offer, Risa was all too happy to let him assist her.

As far as Craig was concerned, Mass went surprisingly well, though the first step he'd taken onto holy ground since becoming immortal had disconcerted him. It had felt like he'd crossed through some invisible force field, and he'd been glad that Matthew had been a step behind him to stabilize him and to quickly whisper an explanation when he stumbled. Risa had immediately apologized, having assumed that she'd tripped him, and the awkward moment had passed without further notice.

Awed by the sheer spectacle that was the church sanctuary, a testament to the founders' belief in glorifying God, Risa kept her hands either clinging to Craig or to Matthew. For his part, Craig was equally impressed by both the architecture and the worship service. Though he didn't understand the point of the reverence paid, it intrigued him enough to tell Matthew that he was interested in learning more. The smile that rewarded his statement told Craig that the older immortal was pleased by his interest, though Matthew was quick to add that sharing his faith wasn't a requirement of his training.

Craig wasn't surprised when, less than an hour after they arrived home and he'd crawled into bed, Risa was at his door. In all the time that they'd lived together, she'd never been able to go to sleep without coming to visit at least once. That had been the reason he'd moved out of the apartment they'd shared; he'd wanted privacy, and he'd never felt right about bringing a lover over when he knew his sister would show up in his room in the middle of the night. Cracking it open, she hissed his name, adding, "You awake?"

"Come in," he told her. "Don't slam the door; it's heavy."

She pulled the door open and shut it quietly behind her even as she whispered back, "No shit. That's solid wood."

Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, Craig switched it on, aware that Risa didn't know the layout of his room. A quick glance at the side of the bed confirmed that he'd hidden his sword out of her prying eyes; he didn't want to explain it to her. Once the light was on, Risa crossed the room quickly to sit on his bed. He shifted, making room for her.

"Everything's solid wood," she continued as she sat down. "I don't know if I like that. Someone killed a lot of trees."

"It was a long time ago," Craig told her as she leaned against the headboard. "These trees died before we were born." There were times when he caught flashes of the woman she could've been if it weren't for the trampoline accident, but he'd learned to live with the regret a long time ago.

"I still don't like it," she insisted. "But it's pretty and solid and I guess that's a good thing, because if it wasn't, things would fall apart." She paused. "I miss you."

Craig's heart ached at the simple declaration. "I miss you too, Risa. This is like when I moved out, except I can't just come over as much."

She stuck the tip of her thumb in her mouth, and automatically, Craig pushed her hand away. "I know. I just — you were gone, and then you came back. You're so far away now."

"What are you talking about?"

She hung her head and shook it slightly. "You said someone took your wallet. You were gone then."

Dread sent chills through Craig. Risa had felt him die, and though he'd managed to dodge confirming that truth once before, hearing her repeat it drove home the extraordinary change his life had undergone. For a moment, he was tempted to tell her just what had happened. He looked into her eyes, seeing the innocence and untainted concern there, and knew instantly that he couldn't tell her. She was his sister, he was her brother, and he had a responsibility to protect her. "I told you," he placated her, "I wasn't home all day because I was dealing with the police and trying to track down my wallet."

He could see her struggling to find the words, and he caught her hands in his own, hating the white lie, but aware that it was just one in a lifetime of shielding his sister from the harsher facts of life. "Risa. I got a little beat up, but I'm fine now. I told you that when I called you, remember?"

She stared at him. "You're lying," she accused. "You got hurt worse."

"I'm okay now," he assured her, not denying her statement, but not confirming it either. "Did you like the church service?" he asked, distracting her.

She nodded. "I liked the singing. Are you happy here?"

Too used to her lightning-quick changes of subject, Craig didn't blink. "I think I will be. Matthew's pretty cool to be with."

"He's not making you do anything like my boss does, is he?"

Craig chuckled. "I have to clean the bathrooms, too, Risa," he answered. "And I told you to tell that greasy bastard to keep his hands off of you. He's not supposed to hit on you when you're working, but he can make you clean the bathrooms."

Risa pouted. "He won't listen. I have to go outside to make him stop. I hate cleaning. I bet cleaning that floor in the room next to mine takes a while."

It took Craig a minute to realize she meant the ballroom he and Matthew used as an exercise room. He chuckled softly, remembering the first time Matthew had showed him how to buff that hardwood floor. "Sometimes."

She cocked her head abruptly, seeing something that caught her eye. "You got new clothes," she accused.

"Yes," Craig replied. "Matthew and I went shopping yesterday."

"I don't have any new clothes," she said, sulking. "You always get new clothes."

"Maybe," Craig suggested with a smile, "you should get to sleep so Santa can come and put presents under the tree."

"He'd come here?" Risa looked skeptical. "But I'm not home."

"Don't worry, he knows where you are."

"Oh." Risa pondered that for a moment. "Okay," she said brightly, rolling her head and shrugging her shoulders in a gesture that conveyed happiness more than indifference. "Good night, Bro."

"Good night, Risa." He waited until she'd shut the door to turn off the light.

In the silence and darkness, Craig closed his eyes, suddenly tired beyond his years. He had no idea how to tell his sister the truth, and he hoped he never had to do so. As much as he loved her (and he couldn't imagine not having her in his life) — he wasn't entirely sure he was prepared to have her in his life forever, if she died and came back like he had. Silently, he promised himself that he'd ask Matthew if he could tell if Risa would be immortal. Just as quickly as Craig thought that, he decided he didn't want to know. It was bad enough having to keep the secret of his immortality from her; Craig wasn't sure if he could keep hers a secret as well. Wearily, Craig pulled the covers over his body and willed himself to sleep. Tomorrow was Christmas, and since Matthew had promised him a day's vacation from training, it would be one day when Craig could almost pretend he'd never heard of immortality. He had a feeling he wasn't going to have many more days like that, and he was determined to enjoy it — and his sister's company — for as long as he could.

* * *

_"Craig?" the girlish voice sounded in his ear, and he rolled over, giving up on sleep. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, the only light coming from the heavy Army-surplus flashlight his visitor carried. He didn't need it, though, to see the shock of blonde hair that streaked the front of her otherwise dark brown hair. He'd already memorized the color combination and envied her for it._

_"What, Risa?"_

_"You think Mom and Dad were really mad about my hair?" Easily, she climbed into bed with him and stuck her hand in her mouth in an unconscious gesture of worry, somehow managing not to drop the flashlight in the process._

_"No." With the ease of long familiarity, Craig pulled her hand out of her mouth. "You're not supposed to suck on your fingers anymore. That's baby stuff."_

_She pouted at the rebuke, but let it pass without comment. "Do you like my hair?"_

_Smiling, Craig brushed a hand through the offending blonde strands, and promised himself that someday, he'd have hair like that. "It's cool. It's like a comic book." Unwillingly, he remembered the price she'd paid for the shock of blonde in an otherwise dark brown mass of hair: all the blood that had trailed down her face when she'd hit the edge of the trampoline, his own frightened screams when she hadn't responded to his calling her name, the weeks she'd spent relearning basic things. Despite his attempt to suppress them, the pictures flashed through his mind, and he saw them reflected in her eyes. Instinctively, his arm slipped around her in a half-hug._

_She leaned into the touch, seeking comfort. "Maybe our real parents were fairies. That's why they had to give us up."_

_"Grow up, Risa. Fairies aren't real."_

_"How do you know?" she demanded with all the logic of an eight-year-old. "We're the only twins in school. It's not common. It has to be magic."_

_"Like TV?"_

_"Yeah, like TV. Maybe, when we're old enough, we'll live forever like the fairies do."_

_"You're such a baby," Craig pronounced with all the authority of an older brother._

_"If I'm a baby, then you're a baby. You're eight years old just like me."_

_"Am not. I know I'm older than you."_

_"Are not."_

_Suddenly, footsteps thudded through the trailer home, headed towards the bedroom where they were huddled together. Instantly, the twins went silent. _

_"Risa?" their mother called. "If you're not in your own bed in the next five minutes, you're gonna regret it."_

_"Did you close your door?" Craig demanded, suddenly a conspirator in the lightning-quick way of a protective sibling._

_Risa's eyes widened. "No." Hastily, she ducked out of her brother's bedroom, but not before sticking her tongue out at him. "I'm older, and I'm gonna live forever and ever," were her hissed parting words._

"I'm gonna hit you if you don't get up now. Are you ever gonna wake up?" Risa demanded as she bounced on his bed. "I've been up for hours already.

Startled, the vestiges of the dream/memory still vivid on his mind, Craig jumped. "Yeah, yeah," he agreed grumpily. "Give me twenty minutes, all right?"

"Matthew said to tell you breakfast is ready, so you'd better hurry." Her mission accomplished, Risa hopped off the bed and headed for the door.

Craig rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a deep breath. Suspecting the reason for his dream, he shook off the old, unexpected memory and went to join his sister and his teacher for breakfast.

* * *

"So, you got home okay?" Craig asked as he lounged on his bed with the cordless phone stuck to his ear. It was the day after Christmas, and Craig had escaped to the privacy of his room since Matthew had gone to deliver Antonio's phone.

"Sarah was waiting for me," Risa confirmed. "She got some new movies for Christmas, and she thought it was neat I talked to this woman on the train almost the entire way home."

"What woman on the train?"

"Well, there was this really old woman named Mildred who had these needles with her and she was making stuff — she said it was a sweater, but it just looked like this long scarf, and it was all creepy colors, and I wouldn't wear it because it smelled like dog sh-"

"Not that woman," Craig interrupted, hearing the revulsion in Risa's tone. That alone told him that Mildred wasn't the one who'd ultimately captured his sister's attention. Aside from that, he knew his sister well; if he wasn't specific enough, he'd hear about all the other interesting people on the train before Risa told him what he wanted to hear. "Tell me about the one you talked to most of the time."

"Oh, Nina? She was so sweet. She showed me a card trick, and she made me practice it until I remembered it, so you gotta see how it's done because it's really, really cool. Plus she was really pretty, with skin that was naturally tan and really long hair, and she was so fun to talk to. She said she'd met a duchess once, but she didn't have any pictures to prove it, so I didn't believe her. I've never seen anybody who could do magic, but Nina said she could."

Craig shook his head. Risa had a way for attracting strangers to her like moths to a flame; Craig had always figured it had something to do with the way Risa would hold nothing back in her conversations with anyone. In some ways, Risa had never quite grown up, and Craig knew people responded to that innocence. "So there was a magician on the train? What else did you talk to her about?"

"She said her mother had been Cherokee and she got her eyes from her. I thought you could only have eyes like she did if you were Chinese, but she said no, sometimes other people get them too. She said she'd been to China. I told her I didn't think China was a place, it was what you ate on, and she laughed so hard she cried." Risa paused, and her voice quivered. "Then I felt stupid, and I told her that I was sorry, because I remembered China's a country." Her last words came out mumbled.

"Risa, take your thumb out of your mouth," Craig admonished her. He heard a sucking, popping sound, and knew his guess had been right. "You're not stupid, it just takes you longer to think." The familiar reassurance sounded hollow even to Craig's ears. Even knowing that their friends would keep an eye on Risa, Craig felt the pain of their separation keenly. He couldn't go charging to his sister's rescue like he used to, and he could only hope that Risa would stay out of trouble. "Now, you didn't give Nina your phone number, did you?"

"Of course not," Risa said, affronted. "I gave her yours, since it doesn't work anymore." In a small, half-muffled voice, she admitted, "I couldn't remember mine."

"Risa. Quit being a baby." A slight popping noise rewarded Craig's words yet again. "You did good, and no, I can't remember mine most of the time anyway. I barely know this one. Now, are you working today?"

There was a pause. "Shit! I'm late!" Risa swore. She hung up before Craig could remind her to take the right subway line.

Chucking ruefully, Craig turned off the phone and set it on the dresser across from the bed. He was just about to decide to see what he could scrounge together for lunch when the immortal headache hit, followed by a polite knock on the door. Already more than halfway to the door, it took only a few more steps for Craig to open it. He found Matthew on the other side, sword held threateningly.

For a stunned minute, Craig thought that Matthew meant to kill him.

Then Matthew relaxed. "Next time?" he suggested. "Answer the door with your sword ready, even if you think it's just me."

"You can't be serious."

Matthew just looked at him.

"You are serious." Craig couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want me to assume that when I get that feeling that there's another immortal around, that he might be a danger to me? Even if it's a friend?"

"It never hurts to be cautious. Get your sword and keep it with you at all times."

"Paranoid is more like it." Though he thought the idea was overkill, Craig stepped away and picked up his sword from the floor beside the bed. "Now what?"

"Now, we head downstairs," Matthew replied.

"For what?"

Blandly, Matthew looked at him. "If you're going to manage some of my properties for me, you're going to have to learn how to handle real estate. Unless you'd rather not work for me?"

"You expect me to just go on like you didn't just —" Craig began, and then stopped. He took a deep breath. "Okay. This is where you remind me that my training's not a democracy, right?"

"On this?" Matthew smiled. "This isn't training to be an immortal. This is the work I've hired you to do."

"Gotcha." Feeling more reassured, but more wary, Craig waited until Matthew had stepped out of the way before he followed him down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

_New York – Two months later_

Whistling, Nick checked over the list of items Connor had requested he retrieve from the warehouse where they stored the items they couldn't fit into the shop. The list wasn't a large one, but from the looks of it, Nick could see that they'd have to either hire some help or spend two days to get it transferred to the shop. He had a sneaking suspicion that it would be the latter rather than the former. Connor would call it a form of exercise; Nick called it being cheap and unwilling to expose their business to outsiders. As a result of that belief, he spent some time estimating the total weight of everything. Immersed in his duties, Nick jumped and dropped his clipboard when his cell phone rang.

Swearing, he glanced at the caller ID display on his phone. Seeing a cryptic "Information Blocked" message, he frowned, then pressed the talk button, and put the phone to his ear. "Wolfe," he answered, using his last name out of years of habit as an officer of the law.

"You never call, you never write, you just drop off the face of the earth, and you expect me to pay you when you haven't even been in Paris since May?" a slightly German-accented male voice complained, his manner at once brisk and deceptively easy-going. "I put you in charge of my European operations, and you take off without telling me. Next thing I know, I got Amanda telling me some guy named Lyle is running my business, and you're in New York."

Recognizing the voice, Nick muttered a silent oath. Dealing with his old friend and sometime employer was always a minefield of things that hadn't been said and things that could be misconstrued. Picking up his clipboard from the floor, Nick began to pace off his frustration. If it weren't for the fact that Bert had saved Nick's life and later, helped him find a purpose in life when he quit the police force in disgust, Nick knew he wouldn't have called Bert a friend. "Bert, I talked to you five months ago, remember? You were looking for a sword for some woman."

Silence met his remark. Nick could almost see the considering frown on his friend's face. "Did you find it for me?"

As the item in question had been the sword that Nick now carried, Nick chuckled ironically. "I live to disappoint you," he told his friend.

"Yeah, well," Bert replied easily, "you gotta quit that; you do it too well. Listen, you in need of some money?"

"Maybe," Nick hedged. Bert ran a private security firm that operated globally. Working for him meant anything from skip tracing to bounty hunting to covert operations too hot for a government to handle. "What have you got?"

"Something weird. A friend of mine in the business called in a favor, and since you're in the States, I thought you could check it out for me." Bert spoke as if he was asking Nick to go to a basketball game with him, and Nick's instincts went on alert. The more offhand Bert got, the likelier it was that whatever he wanted would be risky, possibly borderline illegal, and highly dangerous.

"Which, the favor or the friend?"

"The favor. I already checked out the friend."

"Depends on what it is," Nick said cautiously. "I can't just leave my job."

"Tell 'em you've got a family emergency."

Nick rolled his eyes. "My parents are dead, and I haven't seen my brother since he went into the Air Force. You know that."

"Yeah, but they don't," Bert reminded him cheerfully. His smug tone irked Nick, but Nick ignored it, aware that some of Bert's arrogance was calculated to provoke a reaction. "What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm working for an antiques dealer." Suspecting the conversation was going to take a while, Nick found the nearest chair, which happened to be a Victorian piece, and sat down.

There was a pause while Bert assessed this information. "Pay well?" he queried, sounding intrigued.

"Get to the point, Bert," Nick said impatiently. "What or who are you looking for, and why do you think it's going to mean a trip for me?"

"Do you know a Matthew Salisbury?"

"No." Forgetting that Bert couldn't see him, Nick shook his head as he answered without hesitation.

"You wanna think about that any?" Bert asked dryly. "Either way, you need to find him."

"What's so important about him?"

"My friend believes Salisbury stole something from her. She'd like it back, but she'll settle for the chance to meet him in person and talk things over."

Nick chuckled, remembering something Bert had said. "I thought you were getting out of the 'woman scorned' business."

Bert's voice was dry as he answered, "Only when it comes to ex-wives."

"What, you got more than one? As if the ambassador of Romania's not enough?" Nick teased him.

"You let me worry about that," Bert told him firmly, closing the subject. "Just let me know where he is and how to get a hold of him, and I can close this debt. I'll even throw in expenses if it means you get this guy." Business concluded, Bert asked, "So when are you coming back to Paris? Your girlfriend's been missing you, though if you ask her, she'll deny it."

Some part of Nick wanted to leap for joy at the thought of Amanda missing him, but the rest of him — still too hurt over the numerous things she hadn't told him when he was around to hear them — didn't believe she was. Besides, there was one small problem with Bert's words. "She's not my girlfriend," Nick said flatly for the umpteenth time as he rose to his feet in an unconscious defensive gesture. "Never has been, never will be."

"Hey, well, could've fooled me. You know what they say about protesting too much," Bert said carelessly. "Listen, get back to me about Matthew Salisbury, and I'll be seeing you." With that, Bert disconnected the call.

For a moment, Nick stood there, staring at his phone. Never a man to wait calmly and not act when a friend needed help, Nick wrestled with the temptation to drop everything and do as his friend had requested. He'd always been the one to demand answers, to charge in when others might use more caution, to be proactive rather than defensive. That had killed him, more than the shot Amanda had fired; she'd only ended what had already been a lingering death. He took a deep breath, and felt the sword he wore in a cross-body sheath across his back shift with the movement. The now-familiar weight reminded him that he had obligations, a life that he was building here. The time that he could just leave and follow Bert's often inevitably Pandora-box requests wasn't now – and Nick had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure that he was ready to do so.

Immortality still felt like a nightmare without end, especially since another immortal had hunted Nick before Connor had come to his rescue, and Connor had defeated two challengers in the six months that Nick had been with him. Moreover, Nick was still struggling to define what being immortal meant to him, what he could do with his life now. Staying in New York with Connor gave him a measure of normalcy: with no immortals other than Connor around, Nick could almost pretend that there weren't any others. Leaving that security behind meant risking that he'd be discovered and possibly challenged, and having to start all over again. He'd done that twice in as many years now, and he was tired of it.

Still, Nick couldn't ignore the request Bert had made of him. He did owe Bert a few favors, especially since he'd left Paris without a thought to anything else but getting as far away from Amanda as he could, and as a result, had left Bert's European operations in the lurch. Later, Nick promised himself, he'd ask Connor if he knew Matthew Salisbury, and proceed from there. In the meantime, he had inventory to check.

******

As was their usual custom, Nick helped Rachel and Connor close up the antique store, then the three of them shared dinner before Rachel went home. The still-attractive fifty-something blonde had been adopted by Connor shortly after World War II and now served as his assistant. It had been something of a shock for Nick to meet her; he hadn't expected the Highlander to have a family, given what Nick had known about Connor at the time. It hadn't been long before Rachel had become a close friend. Now he teased her easily about a customer who'd come into the shop just before closing time and who had been clearly more interested in her than any merchandise.

"He was a dirty old man, and I've plenty of adventure in my life, thank you," Rachel retorted in response to Nick's teasing as she handed a bowl of mashed potatoes to him. She slanted a look at Connor. "And no, you're not going to start in about me spending my life with an old man."

Connor looked at her guilelessly. "I was only going to suggest, lass, that you find yourself a younger one."

Nick laughed at the indignant expression on Rachel's face as she exclaimed, "Younger! That would be anything under what? Four centuries?" She turned her gaze on Nick. "Or maybe someone closer to Nick's age? Either way, I'm not looking for anyone, and I trust you'll both stay out of it."

Nick held his hands up in surrender. "I was only teasing, Rachel."

"Any problems at the warehouse, Nick?" Rachel asked, changing the subject. "You came back late and then we were busy, and I don't think either of us got to ask you if you found everything."

"No," he replied. "No problems. We'll need to hire movers, though, or spend a day moving everything ourselves. The Russian egg's not a problem — it's the lightest of everything you had on the list — but that Colonial sideboard is solid oak. Where'd you find that, Connor?"

Connor took a sip of water before answering. "Estate sale about eight years ago. It had been in the family since it was made."

Rachel glanced at him, catching something in his tone. "You knew who made it."

Connor nodded, but said nothing more. Neither of his companions were surprised, too accustomed to his habits to question them, but it took Nick a bit more effort to control his urge to find out the story behind that sideboard.

"Speaking of people you know," the ex-cop began, "do you know a Matthew Salisbury?"

"Where did you hear that name and who wants to know?" Connor asked thoughtfully.

"Bert Myers," Nick answered, knowing that Connor would recognize the name since he'd previously told him who Bert was. "He called me when I was at the warehouse and asked if I'd find Matthew Salisbury for him. Said a friend of his asked him for a favor and wanted to know where this Salisbury guy was and claimed Salisbury was a thief, but only wanted a chance to talk to him."

"Did Bert say who it was that was asking?" Connor questioned.

Nick frowned. "No, he didn't give me a chance to ask. With him, everything's on a need to know basis."

"He sounds like he's a spy," Rachel commented. "Or an agent for a —" She stopped speaking as she looked at the man seated across the table from her, who looked grim and worried.

"—Headhunter," Nick finished as he too stared at Connor, dinner forgotten. Like Rachel, Nick had learned to read the older man's body language, though not to the degree that she had after having spent three-fourths of her life with Connor. "You really think that's the case?"

"How well do you know Bert?" Connor returned.

"I'd trust him with my life," Nick responded without hesitation. "But not with someone else's. He worked undercover as a double agent with the NSA; the man's a devious, calculating son-of-a-bitch, but he's saved my life a couple of times."

Connor half-chuckled, sudden amusement lighting his eyes briefly as he remembered someone he'd known who was like that. Then his humor faded. "Does Bert know about immortals?"

"Amanda told him since he saw one of us go over a roof and walk away, but he not only didn't believe her, he didn't believe me when I corroborated her story, and thought that we were playing a grand joke on him. I honestly don't think he accepted it as truth." Nick shrugged. "Considering he knows Amanda to be one of the best liars he's ever met, he wouldn't believe a word she said anyway."

Rachel snorted. "Smart man," she remarked. "But if he saw someone—"

"It doesn't mean that he'll believe as you did," Connor reminded her gently. "Amanda give him any proof other than her word?"

"No," Nick said, shaking his head. "Bert was in the hospital, recovering from a gunshot wound. I asked him later about it, and he told me I was delusional, that I'd spent too much time around Amanda. I don't think he sees it as truth."

Connor picked up his fork again as he mulled over the information. In silence, the trio finished their meal. It was only when they started to clear the table when he spoke. "Call Bert and ask him who the job's for."

"I doubt if he'll tell me, but I'll try." So saying, Nick picked up his cell phone.

To Nick's surprise, Bert was all too happy to give him the information, even apologizing for forgetting to tell him earlier since Bert had promised the client that someone from Myers Security would be meeting her that evening. Considering Bert's habits, Nick doubted that his friend had actually forgotten; it was more likely that Bert had gone ahead and set up the meeting, hoping that Nick would be able to deliver by the meeting time. Nick relayed that to Connor, who, judging from his expression, clearly shared Nick's reservations about the meeting.

"Look," Nick began, "I know you're taking Rachel home and you'd want to be my backup at this meeting, but it's on the other side of the city. There's no sense in running around all of New York just for this. For all we know, it's just a coincidence."

Connor didn't share his opinion, and both Rachel and Nick could see that in Connor's expression. "For the love of –" Rachel said exasperatedly. "If you're worried, Connor, you can reimburse me for the cab. Nick's more than capable of taking care of himself by now; he's a grown man, a former police officer, and he's been your student for six months now. When are you going to trust that he can handle whatever comes next? He survived being around Amanda!"

"Mostly," Connor replied, though a trace of humor lit his eyes. Abruptly, he exhaled heavily and his eyes turned dark with grim seriousness. "Someone's in the city. I'm going with you."

Nick nodded. He didn't sense the other immortal that Connor implied was in town, but knew he didn't have Connor's range. "I can take care of myself—" he started to argue, only to be silenced with a look.

"Don't argue with him, Nick," Rachel warned, glancing at her adoptive father. "I know that look all too well. He's got his mind set, and there's no changing it." Gently, she asked, "You wouldn't go without backup when you were a police officer, would you?"

"Sometimes," Nick admitted. He grinned, showing a trace of the cockiness that had helped him rise through the ranks of the police force. "Sometimes I couldn't help it, and sometimes I thought I was immortal." His last comment earned him a snort from his companions. He exhaled and looked at Connor. "You know, I used to think I was paranoid, but then I met you."

"Heh."

******

The place Bert had specified turned out to be an Italian restaurant next to a pool hall. As Nick and Connor stepped out of Connor's convertible, Nick felt the signature of another immortal. A glance at Connor confirmed that he'd felt it as well. That signature grew stronger as they stepped into the restaurant. Keeping calm, Nick went to the hostess and asked for Kat von Merenburg. They were led to a table near the center of the restaurant where a stunningly beautiful woman sat. She had long black hair and a diamond-shaped face highlighted by a strong, aquiline nose, a small mouth, and large, semi-prominent eyes. Nick breathed carefully as the impression of the stranger's immortality settled. As he did so, he noted that she wore a purple ballerina-style top and an amethyst-and-diamond necklace.

In an accent Nick recognized as Russian only because it sounded like an informant he'd sometimes used, the stranger thanked the hostess, and then turned to Nick, who stood warily at the table. He didn't dare sit until he was sure that this was going to be a peaceful meeting. In his experience, female immortals were trouble, and he wasn't going to start assuming otherwise. Connor had no hesitations, however, and slid into the seat to stare deliberately at the woman.

"Kat von Merenburg?" Nick asked.

"That's Countess Katarina von Merenburg to you," she said haughtily. "Daughter of the Countess Natalia von Merenburg of Russia."

"It's whatever we see fit to call you," Connor replied. "The days when you could have peasants flogged are long past, woman. Catch up with the times, why don't you?"

She glared at him. "You're not the man I came to meet, Highlander," she said frostily. "I'm here to meet Nick Wolfe."

Nick's lips twitched at both her snobbery and Connor's reply, but he resisted the temptation to laugh. "I'm Nick Wolfe," he answered. "No title, I'm afraid, just a simple American man with a few questions. Maybe even a few answers for you." He kept his manner friendly, though he suspected he already knew what Katarina sought.

Connor smiled at her, too. "And it's a city. You meet all sorts of people in them." The smile vanished and his eyes turned cold. "Or do you think you give orders here, woman?"

Anger flared in her dark brown eyes, but she raised her head a fraction and turned to Nick. "Bert said you knew where to find Matthew Salisbury, that you'd help me recover what he stole from me." Her voice was calculatingly coaxing.

"Matthew? A thief?" Connor snorted. "Not in this lifetime or any other." He appraised her, his gaze insulting. "Or are you saying he took your virtue, such as it was?"

She flushed, the blood turning the pale skin of her face and neck scarlet. "That's none of your business," she retorted. Again turning to Nick, she stated, "Just tell me where to find Matthew Salisbury, and we'll have no quarrel."

"Lady, I don't want to fight you, but I don't know where to find Matthew Salisbury." He was beginning to not like her, and his gut was telling him that she wasn't the kind of woman he wanted to like.

Connor laughed. "He doesn't even know who he is, woman." He leaned back in his chair, arrogantly assured of his position. "I do, however. So, is there a finder's commission?"

"Stay out of this," Katarina snapped. "You weren't the man I hired."

"Oh, so you'll ask me and waste your time and money?" Nick asked, taking the seat beside Connor. Patience had never been his biggest virtue, and he had even less of it for idiocy. "You know, I thought royalty had brains, but maybe all that inbreeding has taken its toll." He glanced at the man seated beside him. "Wouldn't you agree, Connor?"

A wicked smile appeared on his face. "It would explain a few things." He gave Katarina the same insultingly appraising look. "So what do you want with Matthew?"

"That's between him and me. If you will not help me, you will fight me. There can only be one of us, and I don't think a commoner needs to be that one."

"Isn't that what you are now?" Connor asked pointedly.

Katarina glared at him. "I was born to rule, unlike some people." She turned to Nick. "So. Are you going to help me or not? Or does the Highlander do all of your thinking for you?"

Nick narrowed his eyes. "No, but I already told you, I don't want to fight you. It's not my fault I don't have the information. You're ignoring the source right here." He gestured to Connor.

"Fine, then," she said haughtily. "You have failed me, therefore, you must fight me. You have been challenged." She paused. "Or do you need permission before you go anywhere with a woman?"

Nick looked at her classically sculpted features, and knew that Katarina meant every word. He couldn't let the insult slide. "No."

"Last I looked," Connor drawled, "Nick's a grown man. He fights or walks as he sees fit." He sent her an amused smile. "So who pulls your strings, then, that you have to ask about his?"

She didn't answer, and Nick knew Connor had scored a hit. Nearly purring her words, she asked, "Or is it that you're too much of a coward to fight? Pity, a wolf that's afraid to defend himself."

"Lady, you can insult me all you want, but if you're headhunting friends, that's got to stop." His voice hardened and he stood. "Let's go." He didn't need to look at Connor to know that he'd be waiting when he got back.

Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction at Nick's response. She stood, revealing that she'd worn a multi-colored ankle-length skirt, and that she was shorter than Nick by at least five inches. In silence, they walked out of the restaurant and then around to the semi-dark alley in back. Once there, Katarina pulled off her skirt with a rip of Velcro and drew out a broadsword from the folds of the garment, leaving her attired in a bodysuit.

Nick seized the moment and attacked. She tossed her skirt at him, hoping to distract him. Stepping aside, he avoided the trap, instantly grateful that Connor had spent some time training him on just that. Then Nick attacked again. Katarina parried his blade and riposted, but he countered the attack. For the next several minutes, they fought, with each trying to gain an upper hand. His longer reach – a combination of his height and the hand-and-a-half broadsword he used – helped offset her attempts to get in close and strike, though he had to body slam her a few times to keep her from scoring. It rapidly became clear that Katarina had been trained well from the movements she made. She'd made several cuts, nothing serious, but Nick knew he couldn't afford to have that many more. Still, he waited until he could see her start to tire from the effort of having to compensate for her shorter reach, and then he pressed his advantage.

Capturing her blade, he pushed it aside, and then feinted to her thigh, as if he intended to cripple her. She took the bait, but he was already elsewhere. It took only a flick of his wrist to send his sword towards Katarina's neck. Belatedly, she tried to block his parry, snarling a curse in Russian, but it was too late – Nick was already committed to the stroke. Even knowing that had been the point of the battle, Nick watched Katarina's head fall from her body with slowly dawning shock.

_My first Quickening_, he realized. _Oh my God. _

He couldn't take his eyes off the body in front of him. He'd killed before – both in the line of duty and out of vengeance, but suddenly it felt like he'd not only crossed some invisible line, he'd crossed a six-lane interstate highway. There was no going back to the side of the road where he could claim that he was still innocent of this kind of killing. He could feel himself going into shock, and his eyes focused on the unearthly cloud that was materializing from Katarina's corpse as he tried to get his breathing under control.

The mist of Katarina's Quickening rose to greet him just as he heard a metal door slam open against the wall. Nick whipped his gaze around to see a young woman silhouetted in the doorway, a streak of blonde framing her face. She stepped away from the door, letting the door slam shut behind her, curiosity clearly driving her actions as she stepped forward.

"Stay back!" Nick yelled at her as she neared him, but then the Quickening hit, consuming him with Katarina's power. He couldn't spare a thought for the stranger, not when the images of a life not his own, the emotions of an embittered lesser royal, and the sheer electricity of the Quickening energy battered him and demanded that he surrender to the assault. Screaming his denial of Katarina's final wishes, Nick fought the silent, insidious war for his personality, his memories, and the very essence of his character. He dropped to his knees as he tried to defy the Quickening's natural levitation, and his body shook with the effort. In the struggle for dominance, Nick closed his eyes, never seeing the bolt of Quickening lightning that struck the young woman, driving her back to the shadows of the doorway from where she'd come. He never heard her faint cry of, "Angels," the second before she lost consciousness, too caught up in his own silent battle.

Over and above the Quickening, Nick felt another immortal approach, but he could only scream his denial, helpless to do anything but take in the power that had been unleashed. When the lightning faded, it took Nick several moments before he could reorient himself, caught up in the euphoria of the win. He might've spent several minutes longer in that state of bliss had he not felt a sword blade against his all-too-vulnerable neck. He couldn't help the nearly reflexive jerk of shock, and felt blood drip down his shirt.

"I see the cat has run out of lives," a man's voice observed as its owner pressed his weight against Nick's back, keeping him in a kneeling position. "You will too someday. Not today. But I will have my revenge on Matthew Salisbury. When you see him, tell him he owes me for sparing your life. Maybe when I take his head, I can take the Highlander's."

The distinctive wave of yet another immortal's approach hit Nick, and he tasted Connor's signature on it, giving him hope. Apparently, the stranger felt it too, for Nick felt the blade press a little harder into his skin. Then the stranger laughed. "Time for me to act like a tree and leave," he tossed out, then pulled his blade off Nick's neck and ran away. Nick's last image of the stranger was of a tall man of medium build, wearing a black stadium coat and black sneakers.

Footsteps pounded on pavement, headed in his direction. Nick relaxed marginally, recognizing the man who came running to meet him, sword already in hand. Guessing Connor had been at the back door to the restaurant, Nick spared a moment to wonder what had held Connor up, then wondered if the Quickening had shielded the unknown immortal from being sensed until the last minute.

Without saying a word, Connor took in the scene. Nick wished he were closer so he could get a clue as to what Connor was thinking, but knew better than to ask. Instead, he told his teacher, "He's gone. I'm not sure which direction, but I'm pretty sure it was away from here."

Connor narrowed his gaze and walked closer to where Nick now paced restlessly with one hand pressed against the back of his neck. Sheathing his sword, Connor reached to pull Nick's hand away, stopping Nick's pacing for a moment. "You have a thin scar there," he informed his student, "but it's healed."

"I thought we didn't scar," Nick said, surprised.

"The neck area is one of the exceptions." He surveyed Nick's ripped and bloodied clothing, and caught the way Nick couldn't stand still. "Let's go."

"What about the other guy?"

"Later," Connor said sharply. "I'll handle it. Now is the time to go." His tone brooked no argument.

"You're just going to let him go? He tried to kill me." Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You're in no shape to stand, let alone fight," Connor observed harshly. "Argue with me in an hour and tell me I'm wrong, Nick. He left you alive for a reason, and I've no desire to see you dead yet."

Nick stared into his mentor's eyes, seeing a look that meant Connor was serious. Though he felt like he could run a marathon without breaking a sweat, Nick suspected that he was riding the high that the Quickening had given him. Like all highs, he'd come down from it soon enough. From the expression on his mentor's face, Nick realized that Connor knew that to be true, and feared that if Nick went after the other immortal, it would happen in the middle of the fight, leaving him vulnerable. Though he wanted to argue the point further, he trusted Connor's judgment, and so he nodded acceptance of the other man's decision.

Two minutes after they left, a heavy-set, bearded man stepped out of the pool hall next to the restaurant. "Risa?" he called. "Damn fool retard," he muttered, half-under his breath as he squinted into the shadows cast by the lights at either end of the alley. The smell of recent death wrinkled his nose, but he gave it little thought, assuming it was just some dog that had been hit by a passing car and crawled into the alley to die. If it wasn't, he wasn't going to investigate; there were gangs in the neighborhood, and it didn't pay to be too curious.

Still bitching, he opened the door wider. "Has to go check out every fucking noise like a two-year-old. I swear she does it just to avoid me. If she'd just give out a little bit, she wouldn't have to run so far." In a louder voice, he called, "Risa Halverson! You better get your ass back up front or you're fired!" Though the threat was an empty one, he couldn't stop repeating it; sometimes, he actually believed he meant it. He stepped out further. He had just enough time to wonder if he should've worn his glasses before he nearly tripped over the unconscious woman. "Shit," he swore. "Risa!"

She stirred weakly. "I saw lightning, and angels," she murmured wonderingly. Then she lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Swearing again, the man picked her up and carried her into the pool hall, shouting for someone to call 911.

******

"I don't need protecting," Connor admonished quietly thirty minutes later as he handed Nick a shot of whiskey.

"You were there – you heard her. She was headhunting, Connor. She was after this Matthew Salisbury, and I don't think she would've stopped until she found him. I think she and that other guy were working together, and she wasn't expecting another immortal to show up. I got the impression she preferred mortals, as long as they were other royalty." He snorted, not understanding the snobbery any better than when he'd first encountered it. Taking the drink Connor offered him, Nick downed it quickly, and then felt it burn through him, dulling the edges of his oversensitive nerve endings, and forcing him to breathe deeply. "Thanks for backing me up."

Connor laughed shortly. "You would do the same." He looked at Nick, and in his eyes, Nick could see the apology for the innocence he'd lost when he'd taken his first Quickening.

Nothing Connor could have said could have prepared Nick for that first burn of power. It had burned through him as surely as any electrical current, searing him with images from another life, the tangible impression of a personality that had been ruthless, and determined, and bitter about not attaining her goal. Connor had warned him that he had to fight to hold onto who he was and not let the Quickening take hold of him lest it change him irrevocably, but Nick hadn't known that it would take all the concentration he had to remain grounded. Nor had he expected the restless surge of adrenaline that remained with him now, making him pace the living room.

He'd killed before, but it hadn't left him feeling horny, energized, euphoric, and oddly aware of everything around him on top of the usual regret for taking another life. In the first few minutes after the Quickening, he hadn't even felt guilt for his actions – just the satisfaction of knowing he'd won. If the strange immortal hadn't shown up just as he was starting to recover, Nick wasn't sure how long he would've stayed in that trance-like state. If Connor hadn't arrived – Nick didn't want to think about where he'd be now.

Taking a deep breath, Nick looked at his teacher. "Now I understand why some go headhunting for the sake of headhunting."

Connor nodded. "Best if you go and burn off some of that energy," he advised. "You'll sleep better if you do."

"Got any suggestions?"

"Sex, drinking, exercise, or all three," Connor offered, rising to his feet. "I strongly recommend, though, you don't get into trouble."

Nick flushed, hearing the warning in Connor's tone. "You said you were handling the guy who put a sword to my neck. I believe you. I just don't have to like sitting around waiting for someone else to take care of –"

"Would you rather rush in blindly?" Connor countered. "Whoever's out there isn't after you, but he'll take your head and anyone else's who gets in the way."

"Then why am I a pawn? I don't even know Matthew Salisbury!"

Connor stared wordlessly at his student. "Matthew Salisbury is Matthew McCormick," he said finally. "He was born Matthew of Salisbury."

Still unable to stand still, Nick paused long enough in his pacing to look at Connor in surprise. "Salisbury? He's English? Just how long has he been in the South? He sounded like he was born on a plantation!"

Connor shrugged. "I met him when the colonies revolted. He sounded English then, so I put him in the brig with all the other English."

That information halted Nick's pacing. "You picked up another immortal and imprisoned him, and he owed you a favor? How does that work? I'd have told you to go to hell."

"Oh, he did," Connor said altogether too cheerfully. "But I also let him escape with his head intact."

"I see," Nick said, then started pacing again as he shook his head. "No wonder he acted like you aren't really friends." He paused. "You planning on telling him what happened?" Then he answered his own question as he saw Connor's mouth curve in the slightest smile. "Of course you are. One more favor to owe you." He shook his head. "You know payback's gonna be a bitch."

Connor chuckled. From his body language, Nick got the impression that the other man was looking forward to the challenge. "Aren't you the one who told me not go borrowing trouble?"

A quick smile was Nick's only reply. Then Connor said, "Come on. If you're going out drinking, someone has to watch your back."

"I couldn't stay in and save a few bucks?" Nick protested.

"You're not drinking all my Scotch," was the dry response.

"Hey, I bought the last case!" Nick retorted, but followed Connor up the stairs anyway.

******

_Washington, D.C. – The following day_

Metal clanged against metal as Craig parried Matthew's blade, then tried to execute a complex move Matthew had taught him earlier in the week. Matthew stopped his attack, and Craig found himself suddenly having to defend from an off-balance position. Desperately, Craig tried an underhand parry, and ended up collapsing to the floor when gravity forced him there. Two months of Matthew's meticulous cross training had resulted in the filling out of Craig's tank-like frame with solid muscle and very little fat. He wasn't quite quick on his feet yet, but he was getting there.

"You can't parry well if you're off-balance," Matthew reminded his student as he helped him stand. "You also telegraphed your move. I told you not to bite your lip when you're trying to concentrate, or hesitate before you make a move."

"Look, I don't know this yet, okay?" Craig snapped irritably. "Sword fighting's for the movies."

"You know it," Matthew returned. "You just don't believe that you do. Now, attack me again, and this time, extend, advance, deceive, counter parry my counter parry, and attack, and don't bite your bottom lip. Take it slow, but make it count."

"I don't know why I'm doing this," Craig said mulishly. They'd been working on his sword skills for the last four hours, and he was getting tired. Matthew estimated he had another half-hour at best before Craig got too cranky to listen to anything he said. It occurred to Matthew that Craig was moodier than usual, and he wondered why. "It's not like there's any big threat. You talked that one immortal out of a challenge, and that was because we were at the grocery store and you didn't feel like fighting."

"And what would you do in that situation?" Matthew asked.

The ringing of the phone on the wall nearest the door of the workout room, however, halted Craig's reply. Matthew let it ring, waiting for Craig's answer. When it was clear that Craig wasn't going to reply, Matthew walked across the room to answer the phone. A glance at the caller ID told him that the incoming call was registered to Nash Antiques, and he caught the line just before it rolled over to voicemail. "Good evening," he greeted.

"You might want to check your shutters," Connor said cryptically. "I heard there's a storm headed your way."

"Oh, so I should change my locks," Matthew returned, tensing as he read the implication in Connor's words. Automatically, Matthew lowered his voice, making sure it didn't carry over to where Craig stood.

Connor chuckled. "Oh, I don't think that's necessary. I've never been a thief. And I'd have said you should watch out for brunettes, myself, but that's not really a problem at the moment."

Matthew snorted, remembering a lynch mob that had wanted Connor's head for thievery. Conveniently, Matthew ignored the fact that it had been Amanda's fault that the Highlander had gotten into that situation – or the fact that Matthew had taken great pleasure in seeing Connor behind bars until he'd deemed it prudent to let him go. After he'd made sure that Connor knew he owed him a favor, of course, though it irked Matthew that he still ended up owing the Highlander anyway. "Odd, but I don't remember it that way."

Connor only chuckled; clearly amused by Matthew's attempt to get a rise out of him. "Remember what you like, chevalier," he said, using the French word for 'knight'. "But you owe Nick one, and the hunt is still on. Watch your head, McCormick." With that, Connor hung up the phone.

Too many years of habit had Matthew automatically shutting off the phone and replacing it in its wall cradle. There was only one thing Matthew could think of that he'd owe Connor's student for, and given the reference Connor had made to "knight", Matthew suspected whomever Nick had beheaded had been someone who'd been after Matthew of Salisbury by name. Moreover, it sounded like that Nick had eliminated one threat, but not a second one.

"Who was that?" Craig asked.

Matthew considered the phone call, and the phrasing, and then smiled. "That was a visitor on his way."

"A visitor?" Craig asked. "Anyone I know?"

"Yes," Matthew agreed. "Why don't you go take a shower and think about what I asked you, then we'll discuss it over dinner?"

Too glad to escape more training, Craig started for the door. Just as his hand reached the doorknob, he stopped and turned. "There's only two people other than my sister that you and I both know," he declared. "That wouldn't have been Connor, was it? 'Cause if it was, he's not the kind of guy who calls you up just to chat." Craig frowned. "Hell, he's not even the kind of guy for small talk, you know?"

Matthew half-chuckled. "No, he's not." He paused, silently debating just how much to tell Craig. "Nick took the head of someone who was after me."

"But you're not in New York. That doesn't make sense. How would they find you there if you don't live there?"

Matthew shrugged. "Perhaps they thought Connor might help them."

Craig snorted, disbelief clearly written on his face. "Yeah, right. As if he didn't hand me off to someone else just as soon as he could. Makes me wonder how the hell he got Nick as a student." He made a sound of disgust. "Probably owed somebody something he couldn't pay on. I think I'll stop owing anyone any favors." So saying, Craig opened the door just as the phone rang again.

Snatching it out of the cradle, Craig answered it. Though his expression still held irritation, none of it showed in his voice as he professionally greeted, "Good evening, McCormick residence, Craig speaking, may I help you?" He paused to listen to the caller for a minute, and then in a puzzled voice confirmed, "Yes, this is Craig Halverson."

Matthew watched his student's face pale at something the caller said. Though concerned, he knew better than to waste time asking questions that Craig couldn't answer while on the line.

Craig swallowed. "No, no insurance. Damn it, just do whatever it fucking takes, okay? Yes, I'll take care of it, and I'll be there. Thank you." He replaced the receiver in the cradle and stared numbly at the wall.

"Craig?" Matthew asked cautiously. "What's wrong?"

Bleakly, Craig looked at him. "Risa's in the hospital. They think she got electrocuted."

The implication of that, so close to Connor's call, sent a cold ball of fear and anger straight into Matthew's stomach. If Risa had been hurt by someone hunting him, and it wasn't just a random accident caused by Risa's penchant for child-like behavior, Matthew was determined that someone was going to pay dearly for that. Biting back the curse that sprang to his lips, he focused on Craig. "Go upstairs and pack an overnight bag," Matthew ordered. "Be back downstairs in ten minutes and don't forget your sword. We'll get the next train to New York."

"But you're supposed to be at work tomorrow," Craig protested. "You had that meeting with your boss about your annual review—"

"You let me worry about that," Matthew said. "Your sister needs you."

"Yes, but I could just ride up by myself."

"Not this time," Matthew countered. "Whoever was hunting me has friends, and I wouldn't put it past them to use you as bait for me."

Craig swallowed hard. "People really do that?" he asked weakly. "That isn't just movie stuff?"

"I wish it were," came the reply. "Don't worry. I won't let them get to you. Go on, pack, and we'll get going."

The younger man took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and nodded. "I won't be long," he promised as he walked out of the room.

******

Risa looked so still as she lay in the hospital bed. The tubes snaking into her body and the machines to which they were attached, along with the burn marks that marred her skin, made her look like something less human, and Craig fought the instinctive recoil that made him want to run screaming in the opposite direction. He knew that the doctor had told him that Risa had apparently been electrocuted, and that the damage she'd suffered was consistent with either a lightning strike or an accident with a power line. He sat down on the chair next to the bed and reached for the hand not hooked up to an IV. A memory flashed through him: Risa, at eight, insisting that she'd live forever, and Craig felt tears well in his eyes. He blinked past them, telling himself she wasn't dead yet, that Matthew had told him that sensing pre-immortals wasn't something all immortals could do, but Craig couldn't shake the dread that coursed through him. For a long moment, he tried to feel something other than the dull ache of something missing…something that had been her. Immortal presence washed over him, making him blink with the rush, but he didn't turn, didn't let go. At the moment, he didn't care who it was; he just wanted to know one thing.

"She's not going to recover, is she?"

"I'm not a doctor, Craig," Matthew answered quietly.

"But you know what happened to her. You promised you'd find out." Pleadingly, he looked at the FBI agent.

Matthew stared at his student. "This isn't the place to discuss this, Craig."

"Then where? I can't leave her! What if she wakes up again?"

"I left my cell phone number with the nurse's desk," Matthew told him. "They'll call us with any changes. Come. You'll do her no good by sitting here and waiting, especially if you're not going to say anything to her as the doctor suggested." He smiled compassionately at the younger man.

Still, Craig hesitated a moment longer. "I wish I knew what to say," he admitted helplessly. "I never had to say anything before; she was always the talkative one." Then he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "All right," he acquiesced. Reluctantly, Craig stood. Leaning over the side of the bed, he pressed a kiss to his sister's forehead. "I'll be back," he promised her in an awful imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger, then stepped away.

A few minutes' walk took them to the parking garage where Matthew had left his rental. Craig got into the late-model four-door sedan and waited, figuring that the older man would use the relative privacy of the vehicle to tell him what he wanted to know. He was surprised when Matthew started up the car and started driving. Noticing they weren't headed in the direction of their hotel, Craig asked, "Where are we going?"

"To get answers."

******

"Are you sure you don't want me running a trace on that guy who got away?" Nick asked Connor as they walked out of the antique shop's warehouse. Both men were covered in sweat; they'd been working on sword training, and the warehouse with its open spaces was the perfect place to do it. It had been the first suggestion Connor had made when Nick had woken up that morning, having slept twelve hours straight once the Quickening's effects had worn off. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate you keeping an eye on me while I crashed, but I really think you ought to have gone after him while you could still feel him in the city."

"How are you going to trace him?" Connor questioned logically. "You don't know where to begin."

"You know who it is." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the faint scar there, and tried to stifle a yawn.

Connor slanted a look at his student, a wry smile lighting his expression as the two men reached Connor's car. "I don't know everyone, Nick."

"No," Nick countered, "but you know this one." Copying Connor's action, Nick laid his sword in the back seat. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be going down to D.C. tomorrow and you wouldn't have insisted on this training tonight."

Connor smiled. "I know what I need to know. He threatened my student."

That stopped Nick, and he was just about to comment when Connor ordered suddenly, "Get in the car."

"Why?" Nick reflexively started to ask, then looked at his teacher over the convertible's top. Whatever he found in Connor's expression silenced him immediately, and the usually argumentative young immortal did as he was asked. Connor followed a heartbeat later, starting up the convertible and pulling away from the warehouse.

"Who is it?" Nick inquired worriedly after a few miles.

"Trouble," Connor answered shortly and then said nothing more.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the antique store. A dark blue rental sedan was parked in the otherwise empty gravel lot behind the store. Connor pulled up beside it and shut off the convertible's engine. As he did so, Nick felt the presence of another immortal in the area. Warily, he stepped out of the vehicle, pulling his sword out of the back seat as he did so.

To Nick's surprise, Connor took his katana out of the back seat, but did not approach the back door with caution as Nick expected. Instead, he pushed the door open – Nick spared a moment to think about how could that have happened, when they always locked it when they left – and walked inside. If Nick hadn't been following Connor, he knew he would've missed the swift movement that brought Connor's blade up to meet an unfamiliar broadsword, only heard the clang of metal stopping metal.

"You're trespassing on private property, lawman," Connor stated, his voice coldly amused.

"Really," Matthew drawled, his accent somehow emphasizing the dryness of his tone and underscoring the anger in his eyes. "You or your student is currently wanted for leaving the scene of a crime and you'd better hope to God it doesn't go to contributory negligence or manslaughter. Why don't you come in so we can talk?" He stepped back and gestured with his sword hand.

Connor narrowed his eyes, but put down his sword. "It is my place after all," he pointed out mockingly.

They boarded the elevator to the living quarters, Matthew in the lead, Connor in the middle, Nick trailing. Though he'd sensed another immortal other than Matthew, Nick was surprised to see Craig standing warily at the top of the stairs, sword in hand. The younger immortal greeted them formally, taking the swords from each of them in turn, his tone crisply professional as though he'd detached himself from his emotions, then stepped aside so that they could move into the living room. Nick heard the clink of the swords as they were deposited in the umbrella stand at the foot of the stairs as Craig brought up the rear of their little procession. As if this was an everyday occurrence, Connor sat down in the center of the half-round sofa, his posture apparently relaxed. Not certain of what was going on, Nick took his cue from Connor and sat to Connor's left. Craig milled restlessly, clearly not comfortable about something, but not willing to sit. Matthew stood in the center, in front of the coffee table, his eyes focused on Connor.

"Good to see you, Craig," Connor remarked, as though he'd come for a visit.

"I wish I could say the same," Craig replied, bitterness lacing his words. "Matthew said you had answers."

"Answers to what?" Nick interjected. "What's this about charging us with anything?"

"I would've expected more from the both of you," Matthew remarked, his entire body conveying cold rage. "You, Connor, are old enough to know better, and you, Nick, are former officer of the law, or so I'm told. You should've cleared the scene."

Nick glanced at Connor. "What scene?" Nick stalled, not liking the flash of anger he read in his mentor's eyes.

Matthew chuckled humorlessly. "Very sloppy, leaving evidence behind, injured witnesses."

"Who's hurt?" Connor asked steadily, his eyes never leaving the older immortal.

"My sister," Craig answered. "The doctors tell me she was electrocuted. Her boss found her outside the pool hall where she works."

"Which was where?" Nick asked.

"Six Pockets," Craig replied. "Next to Angelini's in Little Italy."

"I imagine," Matthew remarked too calmly, "if one went looking, they'd find a headless corpse not too far away. Perhaps in the back alley?"

Suddenly, the pieces began to fall into place. Nick started to speak, only to be silenced by a look from Connor. "Not if someone knows his job," Connor said.

That took Matthew by surprise. "Explain," he snapped, all traces of Southern patience gone.

"Don't tell me you haven't come across a Watcher or two over the years," Nick interjected. "They all can't be that good."

The look of puzzlement on Matthew's face betrayed the fact that yes, they'd been very good.

"They're a group of mortals," Nick explained. "They claim to record the history of immortals; they're not supposed to interfere."

"Spies," Connor added succinctly, "but they have their uses, such as keeping the police out of immortal business." He let that information sink in before adding, "They have had their share of Hunters as well, and my kinsman paid dearly to keep them from exposing all of us." In a dangerous tone, he continued, "Katarina was not working alone, Matthew of Salisbury, and Nick almost lost his head for it to the immortal she was with. You'll excuse us if neither of us felt like staying to find out if their Watchers played by the rules."

Nick watched as Matthew absorbed the information before sitting down on the sofa an arm's length away from where he sat.

"This other immortal still has his head," Matthew deduced. "I didn't think you were coming to see the cherry trees in bloom, Connor, but I was hoping you weren't coming to headhunt."

"You'd do the same if someone threatened your student," Connor returned evenly and waited to nod to him until Matthew's eyes admitted the fact.

"I'm surprised you didn't go after him immediately."

"It was Nick's first."

Nick suddenly found himself the target of an altogether too-understanding gaze. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted position in response.

"I'm sorry," Matthew said gently. "When the Quickening started, did you see a young woman in the area?"

The last piece of the puzzle snapped into the frame, and Nick swallowed. "She came out of a doorway across the alley. I shouted for her to stay back, but she kept coming forward, and then I couldn't think about her anymore. I didn't see her when we left; I assumed she got out of the way." Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck, only to stop when his fingers grazed the thin scar there. Awkwardly, he dropped his hand. "I wasn't thinking too clearly then."

"Why not?" Craig demanded, suddenly in front of Nick.

Nick met the younger immortal's angry eyes. "Because I'd just taken my first Quickening, and it was all I could do to think of myself. I'm sure Matthew's warned you about that already."

"My sister's in the hospital because of you."

"She saw lightning and wanted to come closer?" Nick asked incredulously. "What kind of fool does that?"

Craig held his gaze a moment longer, then dropped it and stepped back. He glanced at Matthew, then, biting his lip, admitted, "Risa's mildly retarded. She hit her head on a trampoline when we were kids." He took a deep breath. "She doesn't always remember not to go places or touch things she shouldn't."

"If you were watching, you should've made sure she wasn't around," Matthew chided Connor.

"I would have," came the mild retort, "if I hadn't run into a group of gang members who insisted on getting in my way. When I saw the woman on the ground, I assumed she was just a new Watcher, not prepared for the sight of someone's head coming off."

"You didn't think she was hit by the Quickening?" Matthew grilled him.

Connor shook his head. "I saw a sword at my student's neck," he said simply.

Matthew looked at Nick. "Katarina almost took your head?" He sounded surprised.

"No, her friend almost did." He paused, green eyes darkening towards brown as he considered Matthew's phrasing. "You knew her?"

"If you mean Katarina von Merenburg, yes, I knew her. She was a child when I last saw her." He seemed puzzled. "She was hunting me?"

"Claimed you stole something from her."

Matthew shook his head, clearly bewildered. "She was twelve when I last saw her. I'd thought she'd be immortal, but I didn't stay to find out; I had been in the city to check on some property I owned and needed to get back home. I knew Jaime would keep an eye on her for me."

"Jaime?" Connor prompted.

"Jaime Silva y de Gregorio," Matthew clarified. "It was after the war, and the branch of the Romanov family that had adopted Katarina was living in London. Jaime was working as the majordomo of the von Merenburg house. He'd studied under one of my students who'd found him in the Philippines thirty years earlier; I spent most of my time trying to convince him that he didn't have to spend the rest of his life being a butler, but Jaime was content, so I let him be. I told him to look after Katarina and teach her when the time came." Matthew rolled his shoulders in a gesture that conveyed his confusion. "I have no idea why she'd want me dead."

"Well, she did, and unless you have a good way of communicating with the dead, we won't ever know," Nick commented.

"Can we back up a bit? 'Cause I don't get it," Craig interjected. "How's this all connected to my sister?"

Connor looked expectantly at Matthew, who glared back, clearly not liking being forced into stating the facts. "When Nick took the Quickening from Katarina, your sister got a bolt of it. If a mortal gets too close, they will be electrocuted. Get close enough, and it will kill them instantly."

"I never wanted to get close," Nick put in. "Looked dangerous enough from a distance."

"But Risa will get better, right?" Craig asked anxiously.

Nick glanced at the two older immortals and saw their grim expressions. "I can't speak for them; I'm just an ex-cop. Ever been a doctor, Connor, Matthew?"

"Not recently," Matthew admitted, glancing at Connor, who shook his head. "Must admit, I haven't been a doctor since they started reattaching limbs instead of hacking them off."

Craig stared at Matthew. "So what now? You're just going to go after this other immortal, and then what? Killing him isn't going to help my sister."

That question brought the combined attention of the three older immortals on Craig. Defensively, he said, "Look, if you think killing him is going to solve something, I know I'm not gonna stop you because you're all older and better than me. I just want my sister to be well again, and I don't really care about anything else. There's gotta be something you guys know that will fix her and get her well."

"Not for this," Matthew said gently.

"Then why go after this guy at all?"

"Because he tried to kill me," Nick responded, "in order to get to Matthew." He looked at Connor and Matthew. "This is one time I'll turn the job of going after that bastard over to someone else. I want him, but I'd rather not take another Quickening. The first one was bad enough."

"So call the cops on him or something," Craig said crossly. He'd started pacing again, hugging his stomach.

"You think the cops can handle someone like him?" Nick shot back. "They have no clue what they're dealing with."

"He's immortal, not some space alien."

Connor chuckled and looked pointedly at Matthew.

"I'd rather not involve the police," Matthew stated. One arm reached out and stilled Craig's restless movement. "Craig, being immortal doesn't mean having all the answers, or having all the expertise. It's not that I don't want to help, or that any of us don't want to help. It's simply that none of us can help. I don't believe I've ever heard of an immortal who specialized in electrical damage to mortals. If I did, I'd be asking for help right now. As it is, few enough of us go into any type of medicine. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do for Risa except wait."

Craig's sullen expression spoke volumes about what he thought of that. Shrugging off the hand that gripped his arm, he turned his back on the others and stalked to the windows, out of hearing range.

Matthew swore, and started after Craig. Connor's words stopped him. "Leave him be, Matthew. He's not listening to anyone right now," Connor reminded him quietly. "His sister's all he's thinking of." His tone said clearly that Matthew should remember what that kind of grief and focus felt like.

"What happens if she dies?" Nick wondered, keeping his voice low. "Didn't Craig say Risa was his twin sister? Won't she be immortal?"

"I don't know," Matthew returned.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Nick retorted impatiently. "I can't believe there haven't been twins who were immortal."

"There have been," Connor said. "Take the head of one and the other dies."

"Not always," Matthew countered. "At least," he amended, "that's what I heard. The only ones I knew personally died just off of holy ground."

"Have you met Risa?" Nick asked.

"Yes, but figuring out whether someone will be immortal isn't something I do well. In Risa's case, I couldn't tell." He paused. "I'm not certain it would be a good thing, either."

Nick snorted. "That would be an understatement. It's enough of a night—" He caught Connor's narrowed gaze, saw the mild rebuke in his mentor's eyes, and broke off before he could continue with his bitterness. Connor had once offered him the choice to get out of the Game if he really wanted; Nick just had a difficult time accepting that this was his life now.

Sighing deeply, Nick started again. "I meant, if Risa's mildly retarded, and she turns out to be one of us, that wouldn't be good. She'd be at a disadvantage right from the start, and I can't see Craig not wanting to spend most of his time protecting her. You'll excuse me if I happen to believe that sucks worse than finding out about the Game." He glanced at the other two immortals and saw confirmation of his assessment of Risa's situation in their expressions. "Since we can't do anything about that, let's get this bastard who tried to kill me."

Connor smiled wolfishly. "Ready to meet a Watcher, Matthew?"

******

Matthew wasn't sure what he expected to see when he and Connor went downstairs and across the street to a small bookstore with the name of Shakespeare and Company. It certainly wasn't a petite woman with shoulder-length flame-red hair, a heart-shaped face, and a full figure that threatened to burst out of the skin-tight leather-and-denim outfit she wore. Complimentary jewelry and impossibly high heels finished her outfit. At first glance, she seemed to be completely absorbed in reading a thick paperback thriller as she leaned on the counter beside the register, so much so that the jingling of the bell hanging over the front door didn't seem to faze her. The register counter had been placed on a platform and set in the corner of the store near the front entrance, giving the woman a clear view of almost anyone in the store.

Almost absently, she advanced the register tape a few inches and tore off a section, marking her place in her book. Lifting her gold-green eyes to stare directly at Connor, she spoke. Her words came in rapid-fire French. "I told you, I will get into trouble if they know I am giving you information. I want to stay here, and I am already in trouble for not being discreet enough."

"Monique," Connor said soothingly, "I just wanted you to meet someone."

That narrowed her eyes, then she took a second look at the man standing beside Connor and blanched. "You are not friends," she accused.

Matthew slid a look at Connor. "No," he acknowledged cheerfully, answering her in French. "But I trust him with my life."

Connor chuckled. "Monique Le Due, may I present Matthew McCormick. Matthew, this is Monique Le Due, my current Watcher, and I suspect, Nick's as well."

"You only wish I was yours," Monique snapped, "instead of that old fool, Prakash, who cannot follow you to save his life, and must always ask me to find out what you're doing. As if I would always tell him; he should know how to do his job by now." Ignoring Connor, she stepped down from behind the register and moved to stand in front of Matthew. Even with the heels, the top of her head barely reached his shoulders. Despite the form-fitting denim and leather skirt she wore, she curtsied in a fashion that was more of a quick ankle-crossing, up-and-down body movement than a true curtsey, then tilted her head up to meet Matthew's amused eyes. "I have read of you."

"I have not," Matthew returned evenly. He smiled then, and gestured to one of the nearby big, ratty, overstuffed chairs that surrounded a low table scattered with books that needed reshelving. "Shall we get acquainted?"

She hesitated, clearly not fooled by his charm, then nodded. Once they were seated, she began, "The Watchers have been around since Gilgamesh. We are the recorders of the history of immortals. We are sworn to observe, record, and never interfere. We take that oath, and do our best to uphold it. There was a time when talking about the Watchers to an immortal would be a treasonable offense; that time is passing, but we do not reveal ourselves lightly."

"I take it the records you keep are not shared with immortals, either," Matthew deduced.

"No. That might commence the Gathering, and we have no desire to see you all dead." Her tone implied that desire was akin to wanting the world to end by nuclear war.

"What if I were to subpoena the records?"

"You would find nothing that gave you anything of value." Her tone left no doubt in Matthew's mind that would be the case—certainly by the time he actually received the papers.

"Then perhaps you might be inclined to share unofficially. I would hate to have to arrest such a lovely, articulate woman as yourself."

"I might." She paused, and then leveled a look at Connor. "If you're not listening."

Connor didn't move from the relaxed position lounging hipshot against the counter; he appeared immovable.

"You heard the lady," Matthew reminded him with a complete lack of sympathy for the Highlander's curiosity. "Or is your French that rusty?"

Connor shot him a look that clearly said otherwise, but rose to his feet and moved to another part of the bookstore.

Once he was out of hearing range, Monique began to speak. "The immortal you seek was Katarina's teacher. He is a bastard, a charmer, and a thief, and Katarina killed for him, but he never let her take the Quickenings. I heard they were staying in a hotel outside the city. Katarina is arrogant; she will never change her name, and throws a tantrum everywhere she goes if they do not spell her name exactly."

Matthew recognized what Monique was doing – giving him just enough information that he would have to research the rest. What she'd given him didn't exactly break her Oath, but it treaded a very fine line. He tried to charm her into telling him more, but she held firm.

Frustrated, Matthew left the bookstore with Connor. "You talk to her often?" Matthew asked him, dropping back into English.

Connor smiled. "No. This was the second time I've spoken to her, but I thought you could charm her."

Matthew glared at the younger man, then shook his head. "I need to make some calls based on what she gave me," he told Connor.

Connor nodded briefly, acknowledging the statement, and the two men walked in silence back to the antique store.

******

"Look, Bert, I'm telling you, the woman you sent me to meet tried to kill me," Nick was arguing as Connor and Matthew returned. He faced the elevator doors, the cordless phone in one hand, the other holding a gun pointed at the doors. He eased off the safety once he recognized the two immortals and started pacing. "Yes, damn it, I want to know who she was and where she was staying. You think I left you a message just because I wanted to chat?"

Sotto voce, Matthew asked Connor as they stepped off the elevator, "You did tell him a bullet wouldn't slow us down much?"

Connor's reply to that question was a narrow-eyed glare followed by the casual comment, "It depends on where the bullet hits, doesn't it?"

Not wanting to give the Highlander the satisfaction of a reply, Matthew left Connor to do whatever he felt was necessary, avoided Nick, and searched for Craig. He found him in the store, drifting through the various pieces on display.

Craig turned at his arrival, his sword at the ready. He relaxed when he recognized Matthew.

"Nick wanted me upstairs with him," he said almost defiantly. "Then he got a phone call and I couldn't stand to listen anymore."

"You left him without letting him know where you were going."

"He was on the phone! Besides, he could still feel me, right?"

"Unless he's one of the few immortals who can tell someone by their signature, there's no way he could tell if it was you or some other immortal," Matthew informed him.

He paused to let that sink into Craig's brain, but Craig remained defiant.

"I'm just glad that nothing happened," Matthew continued. "Now, I need to make some phone calls to find where this other immortal is. I may have to leave, and it would ease my mind if you were with either Connor or Nick, preferably where they can protect you if it comes to that. If you'd rather be with your sister, I'm sure one of them would be willing to accompany you."

"Baby-sit me, you mean," Craig said sourly, turning away to stare into the display case next to the register.

"Craig." Matthew's voice commanded attention.

Startled, for he had never heard a Southern voice sound like the crack of a whip, Craig turned sharply. "What?" he demanded crossly, clearly caught between being embarrassed at being startled and annoyance.

"Whatever happens, I can't fix your sister so she's well again. That's beyond any capability I have at this moment. If you have a problem with Nick, I suggest you take it up with him, but I will not leave you alone when another immortal is out there looking for any edge that will grant him my head. I lost a student once because I went to face a challenger; I will not risk losing another one, not when I have people who are willing to take on the responsibility for you." Matthew paused as he stared at Craig. "I understand Nick's not one of your favorite people in the world right now, but I'd recommend not losing your head to save your face."

With that, Matthew left the room. Craig stared at the space where he'd been, still angered by Matthew's presumptuous manner. Then the words Matthew had spoken registered. Swearing, Craig went upstairs to apologize.

******

Matthew wasn't above using his federal connections to find what he sought. In this case, he knew it would be quicker for him to have someone else run the search to match Katarina's name with a hotel room. He also needed to find somewhere out of prying eyes to fight. Nick helped as well, putting pressure on his friend Bert Myers to come up with additional data. Three hours later, Matthew and Nick's efforts were rewarded.

"I see you got the message I left," Jaime said once the concierge had connected Matthew with Jaime's room. "I do so love friendships. Imagine my delight when I ran into Carl Robinson and he said you'd met the Highlander at last. It made tracking you down so much easier."

Matthew swore silently. The fact that Matthew knew both Highlanders was something he'd never mentioned to Carl; he'd never had any reason to do so. While Connor had never claimed New York as his territory, it was common knowledge that he lived there and was generally the only immortal in the city. For a moment, Matthew wished Jaime had picked the younger Highlander, Duncan, who lived on the other side of the country. If he had, then perhaps Risa wouldn't have gotten hurt.

Even as those thoughts flashed through Matthew's mind, he was responding to Jaime's words. "So you've found me. There's an abandoned warehouse three streets northwest of your location; the sign on it reads 'Haywood Eastern.' Meet me there at 6:30 a.m."

Hanging up his cell phone, he turned to head out to the hotel where Jaime was staying. His path was blocked by Connor, who'd graciously allowed Matthew the use of the guest room while he and Nick kept Craig occupied in the living room.

"Going somewhere?"

Matthew looked at the Highlander. "Jaime is my problem. I'm the one he's after." In a flat, humorless voice, Matthew added, "I know you want to go after him for what he did to Nick; I'm not denying that you have an obligation there or that I wouldn't feel the same if it was my student. I do recall, though, that Nick said he didn't care which of us took care of Jaime. Do you really want to debate this? It's almost midnight, and I'd rather skip the whole review of right of challenge protocol."

Connor returned the stare, his arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the doorframe. For a moment, Matthew was convinced that the younger immortal would force the issue, demand that he take Jaime in retaliation for almost killing Nick. Then Connor smiled coldly.

"No," he replied. "But when you leave to meet Jaime, you're not going alone."

Matthew returned the smile. "I didn't think I would be."

******

Morning proved rainy, with the promise of a winter storm. The warehouse had been, as Nick had promised based on the data he'd been able to gather, abandoned. From the looks of it, it hadn't been standing empty for long, the lock too new-looking, the signs identifying the employee parking still in place. Matthew picked the lock on one of the dock bay doors and entered the building, Connor a step behind him. Inside, they found that the previous tenants had been ruthlessly efficient on tearing out the interior; nothing remained except shells of offices lining the far wall and the overhead ceiling lights. What was more important to Matthew, though, was that the majority of the floor was bare, giving him the combat room he needed. The worrisome part was that the roof was leaking; pools of water were forming on the concrete floor, but it was too late to do much about it.

Nick had taken Craig to the hospital to visit Risa. Though Craig was still not happy with the turn of events, he'd accepted that Nick hadn't been able to stop what happened, and had apologized for his anger. He'd also agreed to stay within sight of the ex-cop, and not leave the hospital until Nick had received word of the outcome of the morning challenge. The seriousness of what was to come had made for a mostly silent parting.

Now Matthew pushed the thoughts of his student and of Connor's out of his mind. He'd already taken off his coat and left it in Connor's car. Having arrived early, Matthew took advantage of the time to stretch his muscles and prepare his mind. His broadsword was a familiar friend, and a reassuring one at that.

Fifteen minutes later, Jaime arrived. He was the same height as Matthew was, with skin the color of milk chocolate cream, dark black hair and a surprisingly broad, husky, muscular build. Even dressed in a pair of black jeans and a white oxford as Jaime was, it was easy to imagine him as some tribal warrior, one who would've been chosen to be the strongest in any competition. He carried what was either an extra-long machete or perhaps a short sword. His first glance took in Connor, who lounged against one wall, then Matthew, who stood in the middle of the floor, waiting and ready.

Suddenly, Jaime grinned. Strolling forward, he stopped just out of Matthew's striking range. "I have been dreaming of this morning for years," he remarked as he began circling, watching for Matthew's first attack and waiting for an opening to strike. "It's nothing personal, you understand," Jaime declared. "You were the one who said I should be somebody. I got to thinking about that. Why not be the One? I take your head, and then I'll be strong enough to take the Highlander." That earned him a glare from Connor, but Jaime took no notice as he continued speaking. "It's all a matter of mathematical calculation, you see. I ran across another one of us who decreed that I was statistically beneath him and therefore not worth taking. You'll understand when I tell you that really pissed me off." His free hand underscored his words.

"What about Katarina?"

"She was a pawn," Jaime said. "I told her you had proof that she was a blood descendant of the Romanovs, and she believed me. I taught her, why shouldn't she?" Jaime shrugged, then used the movement to attack. He moved more rapidly than Matthew had anticipated, forcing him to resort to sheer blocking skill as the sword struck multiple times. At last, Matthew made Jaime retreat, but still the younger immortal's cocky smile never wavered. "I was so hoping that you'd take her head. She hated commoners, but she hated you most of all."

"Why?" Matthew knew Jaime was trying to bait him, trying to make him lose his composure, and for the moment, Matthew was content to let him think it was working. Doing so let Matthew figure out Jaime's weak points, test his defenses, while getting the answers he wanted. It also gave him a chance to reevaluate strategy. He knew one of the strengths of Jaime's teacher had been her ability to pick up new fighting forms. If she had taught Jaime the same, he couldn't expect that Jaime's style would be consistently anything but unpredictable. Silently, Matthew cursed the fact he hadn't remembered that earlier. Still, he wasn't without his own resources.

Jaime smiled. "Because I told her you were the reason she was immortal, and had to leave her family." He smiled. "I blamed you for everything that went wrong." Jaime feinted with his sword, then struck with his left foot. The fast-moving kick was meant for Matthew's head, to knock him unconscious or at least crack his jawbone. Matthew had stepped to one side in the process of defending against the feint. The movement saved him from unconsciousness, but it didn't prevent his collarbone from cracking with the impact of the hit.

Bracing himself against the pain, praying that immortal healing during battle would be faster than usual, Matthew put seven hundred years' worth of fighting experience into his next action. Suspecting that Jaime was counting on the kick to give him an edge, Matthew didn't grant it to him. Instead, he attacked, using pommel and hilt strikes to counter Jaime's faster movements, throwing in punches where he could. The floor was almost covered in water now, making traction difficult.

For someone of his size, Jaime was quick, easily getting within Matthew's range. He used his long machete as if it was an extension of his hand, and his hands and feet were weapons onto themselves. Having seen that the kick didn't work according to his plan, he adjusted accordingly, and tried every trick he had in his pocket. The battle quickly became a messy, blood-drawing combination of hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting. By the time Matthew's collarbone had healed, Jaime had succeeded in breaking Matthew's left arm, which Matthew had been using as his sword arm, and had, with the help of the slick floor, managed to bring Matthew to his knees.

Jaime smiled in satisfaction and prepared for a final blow. In that moment, Matthew tossed his sword to his right hand and brought his blade across Jaime's belly while leaning back. Instinctively, Jaime doubled over. Matthew wasted no time in bringing his sword back across the other immortal's body in a backhand swing, cutting Jaime's head off almost from underneath. Jaime's head dropped into Matthew's lap, then as Matthew straightened, rolled to the floor.

The Quickening was intense; Jaime had managed to take a number of heads, and doing so had multiplied his power beyond what Matthew had been expecting. He screamed out his name as the power tried to sear Jaime's personality onto his, denying its intentions. As the lightning danced around and through him, Matthew breathed deep, remembering who he was and all he had been. With almost an angry hiss, the new Quickening surrendered to his will and became a part of him.

Matthew wasn't aware he'd even closed his eyes until he felt/heard Connor draw near. Snapping them open, he tilted his gaze upward until Connor crouched down beside him.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"He broke my kneecaps with that last kick of his," Matthew said as a new wave of pain chose that moment to remind him of that particular event. Gritting his teeth, he added, "Help me put them back in alignment and then we'll see."

Connor nodded. "Here or outside?"

"I'm wet anyway. Do it now."

Unceremoniously, Connor pushed Matthew onto his back. Both men clearly heard the snap of bone as Connor pulled Matthew's knees, then Matthew's left arm, into alignment. Then immortal healing took over, knitting bone, muscle, and ligaments together in what seemed like an agonizingly painful process, though it only took minutes. In the silence of two men who didn't need words to know they would be there for each other when it mattered, Connor braced him. The contact reassured Matthew, grounded him as little else at that moment would. There were few men – mortal and immortal – who Matthew trusted to shield and support him like this, and it never ceased to amuse him that one of those few was someone who didn't fit a simple definition of either "friend" or "enemy". The description no longer mattered, especially in times like this one, where just having someone to lean on while his body healed itself made the waiting more bearable and the victory that much sweeter.

At last, Matthew felt healed enough to stand.

By unspoken agreement, Matthew and Connor cleared the scene of any incriminating evidence, then left.

******

The rain had turned to sleet by the time Matthew changed clothes and got to the hospital. Connor had waited for Matthew, as neither had wanted to alarm the younger immortals by showing up alone. As they drew near Risa's room, they felt the hum of immortality, and saw Nick waiting outside the room. Matthew's steps slowed as he approached Nick and read the grim expression on his face.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Craig is with her," Nick said quietly. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and looked as though he resented feeling helpless. "I'd rather he was still mad at me – he's too calm about everything. I think he's in shock but won't admit it; the doctor was extremely blunt about what Risa's chances were when we talked to him this morning. Risa's still in a coma, breathing on her own, but she hasn't woken up yet." He paused, and then glanced at Matthew and Connor. "Jaime?"

"Not a problem anymore," Matthew answered.

"Glad to hear it." Unconsciously, Nick rubbed his neck. "Bastard deserved it." He gestured towards the room. "So what do we do next? He's not going to leave his sister any time soon."

Suddenly, they heard Craig cry out and the sound of alarms come from Risa's room. Craig had been sitting quietly, holding his sister's hand when she suddenly took a little gasping breath and the line monitoring her heart beat suddenly went flat. Alarms began screeching, and nurses and doctors came running through the door. They hastily tried to push Craig out of the room, but, unwilling to abandon his sister, he stepped to the side, mostly hidden by the curtain surrounding the bed, and away from the chaos. Half afraid of what the outcome would be, he looked on as the doctors and nurses worked on his sister, sticking her with needles and pounding on her chest. A few minutes later, a cart was wheeled into the room, and as a nurse bared her chest, the doctor spread gel on some paddles. The paddles were placed on his sister's chest, and at a shout of, "Clear!", an electrical shock was applied to her chest. As her body arched from the electrical shock, a bolt of what appeared to be lightning left her body and headed straight for Craig. He gasped as the force of his sister's Quickening hit him, and the room erupted into even further chaos.

At that instant, the sensation of new immortality surged through all three of the immortals waiting in the hall, and then, incredibly, died. Lightning flashed into the corridor as the sound of equipment shattering and alarms going off resounded through the hall. Craig was pushed into the hallway as he was finally noticed by the doctors and nurses. Connor, who'd been nearest the door, caught him as he stumbled, then helped him lean against the wall of the corridor.

"I felt her," Craig said brokenly. "For one minute, she was there, and alive, and then she wasn't, and then this—light—" He broke off, wrapping his arms around himself and rocking silently. "She's gone, oh God she's gone, I can't believe she's gone, and she's inside me, and she, oh God, she—"

Nick closed his eyes, unable to bear the implication in Craig's words. Taking a deep breath, he walked away, one hand clenching and unclenching in apparent frustration at the injustice that had occurred.

Matthew looked at Connor, confused. All the evidence pointed to a Quickening, but it didn't make sense. He'd often wondered, though, what happened to pre-immortals who never died violent deaths. From the look on Connor's face, he didn't understand it either, and Matthew took a half step towards the room, only to be repelled at the threshold. The doctors and nurses inside were still frantically trying to revive Risa, but within half an hour, it was done. Risa was gone.

Deeply shaken, Matthew turned to his student. "Come on, Craig," he urged quietly. "Let's go somewhere else."

Numbly, Craig nodded, tears drying on his cheeks as he tried to put on a stoic face, and stood upright just as a nurse bustled into the hallway, clipboard in hand. Neatly, Connor cut her off before she could reach Craig. Her words of protest died unspoken as she took in Connor's forbidding expression. Matthew had time to see Connor snag the clipboard out of her unresisting arms before Matthew wrapped a protective arm around Craig and guided him down the hallway opposite the direction in which Nick had gone. There would be time enough for paperwork and other administrative details related to Risa's death, and Matthew trusted that Connor would handle as much as he could until then. Right now, all that mattered was getting Craig some privacy to grieve.

******

_The mall was crowded with shoppers, yet Craig didn't hear any of the noise they made. He was only aware of his sister beside him, her hand grasping his. She felt alive. She felt real. He could smell the strawberry shampoo she used, hear the jingle of the bell earrings she wore, and it dawned on him that this was just like the last time he'd seen her, right down to the clothes they'd worn as they'd shopped for mid-January bargains._

_She turned her head and smiled at him as if he'd won a prize, then looked at the display of a store they were passing. Everything seemed to be floating past him except for the space he and Risa occupied, and he didn't even feel like he was walking so much as drifting forward. He shrugged off the odd feeling and concentrated on the pleasure of seeing his sister again. Wanting to stop, needing to hold her close so he could be sure this wasn't a dream, he tugged on her hand, but she just shook her head and moved into the shop._

_Unable to do anything but follow lest his arm be yanked from its socket (and he didn't want to think about how immortal healing worked on that kind of injury), Craig quickly discovered the reason for Risa's interest. She grabbed a thick cable sweater from a display table in the center of the shop floor near the front entrance and held it up against his chest. _

_"You shouldn't be cold in this," she declared._

_"I'm not worried about cold," he protested._

_"But you're always cold now." She frowned and clasped the sweater to her breasts. "You never smile."_

_Now he knew this wasn't real; there was only one way she'd know he hadn't had much cause to smile. "You're dead."_

_"Not in dreams," she reminded him. "You told me that when Mom and Dad died. We can pretend forever here."_

_"But I don't want to pretend," he argued. "I want this to be real."_

_She ducked her head and looked at him through the curtain of her hair with a sad but amused expression on her face. "I love you, but you want everything." Her tone held affectionate exasperation as she put the sweater back on the table. "You got me." She held out her arms and hugged him. He went to hug her back, but she passed right through him, as unsubstantial as any ghost, and when he turned to find her, she was gone._

The dream faded as Craig awoke, his sister's name on his lips, and tears on his cheeks. Risa had never been that wise, never been that coherent when she'd been alive…and he knew that in his dreams she was that way. The realization only increased the tears even as he felt an odd sense of peace with the knowledge that now he would never entirely lose her. When his crying was spent, Craig rose, aware he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and quietly made his way downstairs.

******

"Oh, there you are," Matthew remarked as he walked out onto the back porch a few hours later. Though it was now officially spring, there was still a chill in the early morning air, making Matthew glad he'd worn a sweater. "I was wondering where you'd gone."

He looked at his student, who was seated in the wide wooden swing that hung from the back porch roof, one hiking boot-clad foot propped against the porch rail, keeping the swing angled. It had been a month since Risa's death. During that time, Craig had said little about her. Worried, Matthew had begun to wonder if taking a Quickening that way had damaged Craig beyond repair, but he caught enough glimpses of the young man he'd come to know before Risa's death to realize that Craig was just grieving at his own pace. The hospital had waived all expenses related to Risa's care, not wanting a lawsuit over what the administrators were calling a freak power surge, but that hadn't mattered much to either Craig or Matthew.

Craig's sword lay beside his body on the seat. Seeing Matthew, Craig moved the weapon to make room, but Matthew shook his head, refusing the offer, and chose instead to lean against the railing so he could face his student. Shrugging, Craig moved the sword back to its original position.

"I promised her that when the snow thawed, we'd come out here and swing," Craig commented after several minutes of silence. "She loved swings." He chuckled, clearly remembering. "I used to have this picture of her in her senior prom dress, sitting on the swings at the elementary school up the street from where we lived. There she was in this white satin and lace frilly thing, one of the few dresses I'd ever seen her in all our lives, looking like she was a bride or something, and sitting on this rusted out swing with the happiest smile on her face as she looked up at her date." He was quiet a moment. "Steve was my best friend, and he loved Risa."

"What happened?" Matthew asked gently.

"He was in love with me too." Now Craig shrugged awkwardly. "I was okay with that. Love is blind, right? I just didn't feel the same way. I mean, it was one thing to kiss a guy on a dare, but go all the way? I guess I could if it was somebody I loved more than anything, but that somebody wasn't Steve. I told him that, and after a while, he couldn't handle it anymore." Craig snorted. "Wonder what he'd do if I told him I had a part of my sister inside me?"

"Craig," the older immortal began helplessly.

Then Craig's cynicism faded. "I wouldn't tell anyone," he said quietly. "Besides, even if she'd lived, what kind of life would she have? I mean, I still have the scar on my leg from when I fell off my skateboard when I was twelve, trying to mimic something I'd seen on TV. That would mean she probably would still be retarded, and still have whatever damage the Quickening did to her. Doesn't sound like much of a life to me. Least this way I didn't have to kill her myself."

"You've thought this through."

Craig lifted his shoulders slightly. "After the funeral, Nick told me something that stuck in my head. He said I had a choice to make. I could live the rest of my life as best as I can, knowing that if my sister had lived, I would've continued to shield her, to protect her, to lie to her about the things I knew she wouldn't understand. Or I could die, and no one would know the man I could be because my sister died." Craig chuckled softly. "I told him he should talk, Mr. I-Hate-Being-Immortal."

Matthew couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips at that. Smoothly, he prompted, "So what did he say to that?"

"He said that there were parts he could do without, but he was finding that it wasn't as bad as he'd originally thought. He said he was beginning to understand that you have to play the hand you're dealt, and it's not always the best one in the pack. You have to live with that hand until you get a better deal." Craig breathed deeply and exhaled. "Personally, I'd much rather be alive than be dead. I know Risa would've wanted me alive." He met his teacher's eyes. "I know the doctor ruled her death a result of complications from a lightning strike, but...I didn't understand how that could happen. She looked like she was going to recover." He was quiet a moment, looking off into the backyard. "I looked it up on the Internet last night. If she'd recovered, she would've been pretty messed up, and she was already messed up as it was. She would've needed someone to protect her, and...." Now he swallowed and exhaled heavily. "I would've done it, but I'd be living my life for her. I didn't want that before."

Anxiously he looked at Matthew. "It's not wrong to think that, is it?"

"No, Craig. It's not wrong. Nick is missing the point, which is Connor's problem. I'd rather you didn't, however. It's immortal life, Craig. If you aren't going to live, there's very little point in it." Matthew smiled at him then. "And Risa was very, very alive. I doubt she'd have wanted any less for you, you know."

More seriously he added, "Whether this is a curse or a gift is up to you. 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.' You're going to have to decide what you think about it. I'll help you as much as I can, but it's ultimately up to you."

Craig nodded. "I figured that. That's why I kinda shut you out for a few weeks; I had to think about what I wanted." He said nothing for a long moment as he stared out at the back yard, and then sighed. "I'm not Nick. I know that much." He chuckled suddenly and glanced up at Matthew. "For one thing, I dress better than he does."

That comment made Matthew smile.

"Besides," Craig continued, "the way I figure it, you're giving me the chance of a lifetime – to learn all the stuff I couldn't afford to go to college to learn, and then some, and while it would've been nice to share some of it with Risa, there's no way I would've or could've ever told her everything." He took a deep breath. "I'll miss her the rest of my life, just like I miss our parents, but...how many people can say that they know their sister died loving them, and that they got a piece of her inside them for always?" Not waiting for Matthew's reply, Craig rushed on. "I got that, and I can't stop going on just because I wanted Risa to be alive. Nobody in the world can change that." His hand brushed the sword on the swing and he closed his eyes briefly as if to blink away tears. "If I look at her…at her Quickening as a gift, then I gotta treasure it, take the best of it, make it work for me. She loved life and everything in it. That's not a bad gift to get."

Relief swelled through Matthew at Craig's words. "Sounds as though you've thought this through," he remarked.

Craig slanted a wry look over at his teacher. "I was paying attention when you showed me how to analyze a situation and prepare a strategy for dealing with it," he reminded him. "You thought I was just in a hurry to go shopping, didn't you?"

"Actually," Matthew admitted candidly, "yes."

Craig laughed, the sound free of grief. "Well," he admitted freely, "I was, but then you started talking, and I wasn't in a hurry anymore."

For a long minute, Matthew stared at Craig. Then he began chuckling ruefully. "I'd been wondering about that," he remarked. "First time I ever had to remind you that you wouldn't have enough time to get new clothes before the stores closed." Silently reassured by the younger man's words, Matthew began to gently tease his student as the chill in the morning air dissipated. Though he knew it would be a long time before Craig was fully at peace with his sister's death, Matthew recognized the morning's conversation as the start of that healing. If Craig could deal with this, then life had enormous possibilities for him, and Matthew wanted to make sure that Craig got the chance to enjoy them.

For now, though, the older immortal simply enjoyed the simple pleasure of baiting his student as the sun came peeking out of the clouds with the promise of a warm spring day.

**Author's Note:**

>   * Risa is based on a nickname for "Clarisa" I once heard someone use, hence the pronunciation of Risa to rhyme with "Lisa."
>   * I did a lot more research for this one than I normally do for my fiction. This plot bunny was furthered when I came across a student paper on genetics at the University of Minnesota, in which the following tidbit was mentioned: Two eggs are released by the ovaries and each egg is fertilized by a different father. These fraternal twins, known as "twins of two", are genetically half-siblings and share 25% of their DNA. Since I'm a half-sibling myself, I wondered just what would happen if one twin was fully immortal and the other wasn't?
>   * Christmas during the Middle Ages info: http://www.godecookery.com/mtales/mtales09.htm
>   * I found a Russian royal genealogy at http://www.royalrussia.org; I take full blame for any leaps of fiction I've created based upon that information.
>   * The immortal that decreed Jaime's head not worthy of taking is Stephan Collier from the Highlander the Raven episode "Immunity."
>   * Characters of mine who wandered into this story from elsewhere: Nina the magician is Nina Williams, Never Swear on the Lady's Honor; this is an AU for her. Monique Le Due is Nick's Watcher in the Code of Silence trilogy, which begins with A Kind of Madness.
>   * Carl Robinson is Matthew McCormick's former student, from the HL:TS episodes "Manhunt" and "Glory Days".
>   * I'm not a martial arts expert by any means, but Jaime insisted he knew how to fight. I based his fighting style loosely on arnis, a Filipino martial art.
>   * http://www.nssl.noaa.gov/primer/lightning/ltg_damage.html for what really happens to a body when struck by lightning. Nasty stuff. By the way, in case you wondered where in the United States lightning strikes the most: Tampa, Florida, holds that particular distinction.
>   * The quote Matthew uses is from Hamlet, Act II, Scene 2, line 250. Thanks to Rhi for suggesting it, and to the Hamlet Navigators at clicknotes.com for helping me identify the exact placement.
>   * Inspiration for this story's title came from the following lyrics, sung by Lila McCann in the song "Down Came a Blackbird":  
>  "Down came a blackbird  
>  Set on a fence  
>  Talking in riddles  
>  and making absolutely perfect sense"
> 



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